r.< 

m~ 


ALICE  WESTON  SMITH 


ALICE  WESTON  SMITH 

1868-1908 


LETTERS   TO   HER  FRIENDS  AND   SELECTIONS 
FROM   HER   NOTE-BOOKS 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION   BY 

RT.  REV.  C.  H.  BRENT,  D.D. 

BISHOP  OF  THE  PHILIPPINE  ISLANDS 


'HE    MAKETH  HIS    MINISTERS 
A   FLAME    OF   FIRE" 


PRINTED   FOR   PRIVATE   DISTRIBUTION   AMONG   THOSE 
WHO  KNEW  AND    LOVED   HER 


ADDISON   C.  GETCHELL   &   SON 

PRINTERS 

BOSTON 


ALICE  WESTON   SMITH, 

An  Interpretation. 

Neither  the  face  nor  the  manner  of  an  invalid  greeted 
me  when  I  was  first  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Alice 
Weston  Smith.  Her  appearance  was  that  of  subdued 
strength,  power  in  repose.  Dark  eyes  full  of  sparkle 
and  understanding  met  mine,  firm,  sensitive  lips  broke 
into  a  smile,  a  mellow  voice  rang  out  a  welcome  with 
the  music  of  health  in  its  tones,  as  a  hand  more  like  that 
of  a  worker  than  of  a  sufferer  grasped  my  own.  Save 
for  the  pillows  among  which  she  was  couched  there  was 
nothing  about  her  to  indicate  physical  weakness,  and  her 
room,  which  seemed  part  of  her  personality,  wore  the 
same  wholesome  mien  that  characterized  herself. 

It  was  the  hope  that  I  might  perhaps  bring  cheer  to 
an  invalid  which  moved  me  to  seek  her  bedside.  The 
first  few  minutes  with  her  dispelled  my  illusion.  In 
place  of  weakness,  I  found  strength;  instead  of  an  appeal 
for  consolation,  I  met  a  spiritual  and  intellectual  chal- 
lenge. I  went  to  her  bent  on  carrying  a  blessing;  I  left 
her  after  receiving  the  gift  I  had  thought  to  bestow.  I 
went  expecting  to  form  an  acquaintance;  I  left  with 
the  consciousness  that  she  had  no  lesser  offering  to  make 
than  friendship. 

It  was  not  my  privilege  to  see  much  of  her.  A  dis- 
tant part  of  the  world  soon  claimed  me.  Yet  we  had 
met  often  enough  to  form  a  tie  that  defied  space  and 
time.  For  this  reason,  perhaps,  I,  one  of  her  later 
friends,  have  been  chosen  to  write  these  prefatory  words 
to  her  letters. 

A  short-sighted  realist  would  probably  say  that  the 
dominant  note  of  her  life  was  its  pain  and  invalidism. 


11 


Those  of  us  who  knew  her  are  aware  that  it  is  as  little 
just  to  think  thus  of  her  as  it  would  be  of  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson.  Both  of  them  learned  that  the  secret  of 
health  consisted  chiefly  in  power  to  do  without  it.  In 
thinking  of  a  victorious  general  one  does  not  contem- 
plate his  endurance  of  hardship  except  as  belonging  to 
the  texture  of  a  triumphant  career.  So  why  talk  much 
about  the  sufferings  of  our  friend?  It  was  not  a  subject 
which  often  troubled  her  lips.  It  is  symptomatic  of 
defeat  for  a  sufferer  to  enlarge  upon  his  condition  ex- 
cept to  the  doctor.  Silence  on  the  subject,  not  from 
Spartan  suppression,  but  because  mind  and  heart  are 
full  of  outside  interests  and  schemes  and  sympathies 
clamoring  for  utterance,  is  an  index  of  victory.  The 
selfish  sufferer  is  fluent  on  the  subject  of  his  symptoms 
and  pains,  the  stoical  sufferer  is  dumb,  the  triumphant 
sufferer  is  eloquent  on  the  lights  and  shadows  of  that 
big  pulsating  thing  called  human  life.  The  defeated 
sufferer  cuts  himself  off  from  the  activities  of  men,  the 
victorious  sufferer  identifies  himself  with  them  —  "I  am 
man;  naught  that  touches  humanity  is  alien  to  me." 

She  was  no  tame  servant  of  pain.  Suffering  was  her 
throne  and  sceptre.  She  was  on  high  adventure  bent, 
not  on  the  acquisition  of  that  un-Christian  fatalism 
termed  resignation.  Her  understanding  of  the  meaning 
of  the  Cross  was  right.  Because  of  what  she  had  to 
bear,  she  was  more  rather  than  less  fiery  in  spirit,  her 
sympathies  were  broadened  rather  than  straitened,  her 
joyousness  quickened  rather  than  enfeebled.  She  did 
not  hang  upon  her  cross;  she  took  it  up  daily  and  car- 
ried it,  according  to  the  commandment. 

She  shared  her  birthday  (the  10th  of  November,  1868) 
with  Shelley  and  Luther,  and  they  shared  with  her  the 


Ill 

poet's  imagination  and  the  prophet's  faith.  From  early 
youth  she  had  the  physical  handicap  of  a  delicate  body. 
But  those  who  have  best  reason  to  know  say  that  it  did 
not  fetter  her  spirit  or  stunt  her  character.  Her  child- 
hood was  joyous  in  a  singularly  happy  home.  During 
the  period  in  which  her  girl's  nature  was  mounting  into 
womanhood  she  advanced  steadily  into  the  far  recesses 
of  that  kingdom  of  pain  from  whence  there  was  no  re- 
treat and  where  the  throne  was  set  from  which  she  was 
to  rule.  It  was  a  saying  of  hers,  twinkling  with  the 
fun  that  was  a  symbol  of  her  bubbling  joyousness,  — 
"I  never  found  my  feet  until  I  put  them  up." 

Then  began  her  many  years  of  shut-in  life.  When  the 
doors  were  closed  all  the  world  was  shut  in  with  her. 
The  wind  and  the  sky,  the  patter  of  the  rain  and  the 
sunshine's  golden  flood,  gave  her  their  confidences  and 
in  turn  received  hers.  As  for  the  stars,  they  sang  her 
many  a  merry  song  when  sleep  denied  his  soothing 
touch.  The  birds  chose  her  for  a  friend  and  were  glad 
of  it.  Men  bearing  the  burden  of  the  world's  work 
were  among  her  intimates  and  received  as  well  as  gave 
counsel.  Mourners  weighted  with  sorrow  felt  for  her 
hand  and  at  its  touch  bore  their  grief  worthily.  Gifted 
women  found  their  ability  stimulated  and  freshened 
after  looking  into  her  luminous  eyes  and  listening  to 
the  rich  flow  of  thought,  which  was  always  ready  to 
utter  itself  in  response  to  the  attraction  of  congenial 
personality. 

Her  clear  intellect  was  not  content  to  dwell  in  the 
region  of  abstractions.  She  was  eager  to  know  and 
quick  to  interpret  human  society  and  its  movements  in 
which  she  claimed  place  and  part.  Had  her  willing  soul 
been  clothed  with  a  less  fragile  body  she  would  have 


VI 

An  empty  vesture.     Let  resounding  lives 

Re-echo  splendidly  through  high-piled  vaults 

And  make  the  grave  their  spokesman  —  such  as  she 

Are  as  the  hidden  streams  that,  underground, 

Sweeten  the  pastures  for  the  grazing  kine, 

Or  as  spring  airs  that  bring  through  prison  bars 

The  scent  of  freedom. 

Well-nigh  forty  years  passed,  and  still  she  lived  and 
loved.  A  lesser  soul  would  have  yielded  to  the  solicita- 
tions of  Death  sooner  than  she.  She  made  no  pact  with 
him.  She  saw  and  lived  the  whole  of  life,  nor  was  afraid. 
Toward  the  last  a  dark  cloud  hid  her  from  herself  and 
us.  She  was  draining  the  last  dregs  of  the  cup  behind 
a  veil.  On  the  5th  of  July,  1908,  she  was  restored  to 
the  light,  though  not  to  us,  for  God  took  her. 

We  inscribe  over  her  and  the  great  company  of  whom 
she  is  not  the  least  member,  Gloria  victis!  which,  I 
suppose,  means,  Blessed  are  the  vanquished,  for  they 
shall  be  victorious. 

C.  H.  BRENT. 


Vll 


BY  SARAH  WHITMAN. 

O  little  Pilgrim  in  a  narrow  Room, 
How  wide  thy  windows  open  to  the  Sky ! 
What  signs  and  portents  in  thy  chamber  loom, 
What  distant  wonders  yet  drift  closely  by ! 

'Tis  there  that  friends  bring  hearts  and  birds  make  song ; 
There  books  lie  open  and  there  thought  breathes  free  ; 
There  Time  and  Nature  in  an  endless  tryst 
Speak  of  the  truths  which  live  eternally. 

'Tis  there  that  memory  shines  and  hope  aspires, 
There  breathes  the  faith  born  of  the  living  will, 
And  there  contentment  finds  its  shining  powers 
In  listening  to  the  message,  "  Peace,  be  still." 

O  little  Pilgrim  in  a  narrow  Room, 

'Tis  there,  with  thee,  the  flowers  are  all  in  bloom. 


LETTERS 


1886  —  Aet.  17  1 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

10  CLARGES  STREET,  LONDON, 

Wednesday,  June  23rd. 
My  Dear  Bessie, 

We  reached  London  late  in  the  afternoon  of  Monday 
and  yesterday  we  all  went  to  Baring's  hoping,  yet  far 
from  expecting,  letters.  What  was  my  surprise  and 
pleasure  when  I  found  six — all  friendly  looking  and  with 
a  home-like  expression  almost  equal  to  a  smile.  Two  of 
them  were  from  you  and  so,  for  once  at  least,  my  duty 
and  pleasure  are  one.  To  begin  then,  but  where  can  I 
begin?  Well,  (added  at  Miss  Ireland's  special  request) 
we  landed  very  early  on  Sunday  morning  after  a  tedious 
but  not  unpleasant  voyage  and  went  that  same  day  to 
Chester  in  time  to  go  to  the  Cathedral  for  afternoon  ser- 
vice. I  won't  attempt  to  describe  anything  —  the  pov- 
erty of  language  is  too  great  and  I  should  get  myself 
into  a  dreadful  muddle.  We  have  dragged  round  three 
Duke's  places  and  explored  ruins  and  churches  until  we 
have  exhausted  most  of  our  strength  and  shoe  leather. 
The  walls  round  the  dearest  of  towns  (i.e.,  Chester)  are 
most  interesting  and  I  feel  quite  "up"  now  in  Roman 
buildings  but  my  "up"  you  know  was  always  rather 
superficial.  We  stayed  in  Chester  for  four  days  and 
then  started  for  Rowsley,  Derbyshire,  where  we  '  *  turned 
in"  (an  innocent  bit  of  steamboat  slang)  at  the  "Pea- 
cock "  and  a  prettier  old  Inn  and  a  more  beautiful  coun- 
try I  never  expect  to  see.  In  fact  I  have  become  a  decided 
Anglomaniac  —  that  is  I  am  a  sincere  admirer  of  the 
country  itself.  The  travelling  is  very  slow  and  would  be 
stupid  —  were  it  not  that  its  very  newness  is  interesting. 
In  going  from  Chester  to  Rowsley — the  shortest  distance 


2  1886 

in  the  world — we  were  almost  five  hours  and  had  to 
change  actually  five  times  —  at  each  station  hunting  up 
our  bags,  " boxes"  and  various  parcels.  Getting  to 
London  was  not  quite  so  bad  but  I  was  cross  all  the  way 
at  leaving  Derbyshire  which  of  all  places  —  but  I've  said 
that,  haven't  I?  Well,  when  we  reached  London  I 
no  longer  regretted  the  hills  and  the  woods.  It  is  a 
worldly  paradise  and  the  sun  —  the  real  bright-faced 
American  sun  —  has  driven  the  smoke  and  clouds  (if 
they  are  not  entirely  mythical)  away  for  our  express 
benefit.  Green  Park  which  reminds  me  strangely  of 
our  own  Common  is  a  perfect  garden  and  nature  not 
only  smiles  but  grins  upon  us.  Only  a  few  moments 
after  our  arrival  we  went  to  Fortnum  and  Mason's 
(mentioned  you  remember  in  Pendennis)  and  bought 
candy  to  our  heart's  desire  —  then  came  home,  eat  a 
disgracefully  large  dinner  and  put  on  our  best  gowns 
(frocks  I  should  say)  and  went  to  the  theatre.  I  like 
the  English  way  (of  course!)  —  I  like  the  boxes,  the 
stalls  and  the  dressing  but  oh  the  women!  In  America 
they  would  be  used  simply  to  scare  crows  with,  but 
here  they  are  bedecked  in  silks,  diamonds  and  ostrich 
plumes  and  called  beauties.  The  men  are  superb  but 
the  ladies  are  a  lot  of  high-shouldered,  big-footed,  big- 
handed  (perhaps  big-hearted)  awkward  things.  This 
isn't  malice  I  assure  you,  but  just  a  vent  for  my  dis- 
appointment. I  wanted  to  find  them  high-bred  look- 
ing at  least  —  but  I  didn't.  Yesterday  we  went  to  the 
tower  and  were  shown  about  by  the  Beef -eaters  —  they 
look  so  fat  and  jolly  that  I  longed  to  be  one  —  there  is 
more  in  the  armouries  there  than  one  could  look  at  in  a 
lifetime  —  at  least  any  but  that  of  Methuselah.  We 
have  just  got  back  from  a  meet  of  four-in-hands  in 


Aet.  17  3 

Hyde  Park.  Every  one  must  have  been  there.  Tonight 
we  go  to  see  Mrs.  Langtry  in  the  "Lady  of  Lyons "  and 
I  intend  to  enjoy  myself.  Dear  Bessie,  I  begin  to  be 
appalled  at  the  length  of  my  letter  but  when  I  once  get 
talking  —  even  through  the  chilling  medium  of  pen  and 
ink  —  I  can't  stop.  It  doesn't  seem  as  though  I  had 
only  been  ten  days  in  England  —  I  have  seen  so  much 
including  (you  are  a  Wordsworth  maniac  are  you  not) 
the  river  Dove.  We  saw  too  the  Sands  of  Dee  but 
Mary  or  some  one  had  already  driven  the  cattle  home. 
When  you  see  Dora  give  her  my  kindest  respects  (is 
that  proper?)  for  honestly  I  think  of  you  all  a  great, 
great  deal  and  wish  you  were  here.  I  should  have  en- 
joyed King  Charles'  tower  at  Chester  and  his  armor 
here,  a  great  deal  more  if  I  had  only  had  you  to  argue 
with.  I  am  very  angry  with  you  about  the  German 
for  I  have  not  had  a  second  to  look  at  mine.  There, 
tearing  off  the  sheet  seems  to  have  been  a  necessary 

precaution. 

Yours  as  always, 

A.  W.  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

MALVERN,  WORCESTERSHIRE, 

Saturday,  July  3rd. 
My  dearest  Bessie, 

What  a  good  girl  you  are  to  write  me  so  often.  I  re- 
ceived your  fourth  letter  yesterday  and  this  is  only  my 
second  to  you  —  well,  I  am  a  traveller  and  must  be  for- 
given for  seeming  neglect,  which  is  really  only  lack  of 
opportunity.  We  reached  this  most  delightful  of  places 
yesterday  and  are  already  at  home  here  (living  in  our 
trunks  as  we  do,  it  does  not  take  us  long  to  settle).  It 


4  1886 

is  a  most  romantically  situated  place  half  up  a  hill  from 
whose  summit  one  can  see  thirteen  counties  (it  is  too 
steep  to  be  climbed  by  the  human  donkey  —  but  four- 
legged  ones,  mules  and  ponies  can  be  found  along  the 
winding  roadside  and  hired  for  sixpence)  and  behind  us 
we  have  a  superb  view  down  a  steep  valley  and  across 
a  long  stretch  of  beautiful  country  to  the  Welsh  hills. 
Behind  us  and  so  close  that  it  has  a  private  door  into  the 
hotel  and  casts  a  great  shadow  over  our  lawn  is  the 
Abbey  Church  —  a  great  handsome  stone  building  very 
much  like  Chester  Cathedral  full  of  the  oldest  and  most 
interesting  things  —  but  there  I  have  made  an  oath 
never  to  turn  guide-book  and  have  to  keep  strict  watch 
upon  myself  in  consequence.  Since  I  wrote  you  last 
we  have  spent  a  week  in  that  earthly  paradise,  London, 
and  four  days  in  Leamington,  from  where  we  drove  to 
Warwick  Castle,  Kenilworth  and  Guy's  Clyff .  Can  you 
imagine  being  eight  miles  from  Stratford-on-Avon  and 
yet  not  visiting  it?  but  it  was  very  hot  all  the  time  and 
we  were  none  of  us  well.  On  the  way  here  the  train 
stopped  ten  minutes  at  the  station  but  even  for  Shake- 
speare's sake  we  dared  not  venture  into  the  boiling  sun. 
We  changed  trains  at  Worcester,  saw  the  Cathedral  ris- 
ing over  the  town  and  thought  of  poor  Charles  (not  of 
course  in  connection  with  the  minster  however).  We 
have  also  changed  places  at  Rugby  and  I  was  disap- 
pointed to  find  it  only  a  big  town  with  a  noisy  station 
after  all.  It  must  have  been  pleasanter  in  Tom's  time 
when  there  was  nothing  but  a  coach.  We  go  back  to 
London  in  a  week  and  shall  probably  go  down  the  Wye 
visiting  Raglan  Castle  and  the  Cathedrals  at  Hereford 
and  Gloucester  on  our  way,  but  our  plans  are  very  un- 
settled as  yet  and  it  is  too  hot  for  much  travelling.  By 


Aet.  17  5 

the  way,  the  week  we  spent  in  London  was  one  of  the 
pleasantest  in  my  life  and  we  had  most  delightful 
weather  —  not  a  bit  of  fog  or  smoke  or  rain .  As  it  was 
still  the  season  (by  the  way  I  believe  the  Gr.O.M.  dis- 
solved parliament  on  purpose  to  spite  me)  the  Park, 
theatre  and  streets  were  full  of  fashionables  which 
added  much  to  the  gaiety  of  the  scene.  We  went  to 
the  theatre  three  or  four  times  and  the  evening  we 
passed  at  the  Criterion,  Mr.  Wyndham,  who  was  act- 
ing in  "  Wild  Oats  "  sent  for  papa  between  the  acts  and 
invited  us  all  up  the  river  to  spend  the  day  at  his  place 
as  soon  as  we  got  back.  We  have  also  been  invited  to 
dine  with  a  "Fellow"  at  Oxford.  As  far  as  England 
is  concerned  I  am  an  Anglomaniac  but  when  the  time 
comes  I  shall  be  content  to  come  home  and  settle  down 
to  my  very  neglected  German.  Isn't  this  a  fearfully 

long  letter? 

Your  loving  friend, 

A.  W.  SMITH. 


6  1889 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

WESTON,  Tuesday,  July  23. 
My  dear  Bessie, 

I  have  just  been  struggling  with  my  accounts  so  that 
my  mind  is  hardly  above  summer  squash,  and  Dickson 
and  Anstiss  and  Jim  Storrow  are  coming  out  tomorrow 
to  stay  so  that  everything  I  want  for  six  or  seven  meals 
ought  to  be  ordered  today  —  even  then  the  livery  man 
may  stroll  up  a  few  minutes  before  supper  to  say,  casu- 
ally, that  he  can't  get  that  salmon  I  ordered  (as  he  did 
last  Saturday)  or  the  butcher  remark,  with  a  gentle  by- 
the-way,  that  he  can't  let  me  have  those  'ere  chickens 
today  —  can  give  them  to  me  Tuesday  if  I  like  —  how- 
ever, avaunt  house-keeping  cares  —  for  a  few  moments 
at  least. 

Paulina  has  just  interrupted  me  to  insist  on  my  ad- 
miring a  boy  doll  she  is  attiring  for  the  Hindoo,  and 
really  you  never  saw  anything  more  cunning  or  realis- 
tic from  his  gauze  flannels  up!  She  expends  all  her 
superfluous  thought  and  energy  on  a  succession  of  these 
charitable  dolls  while  I  sit  by  and  try  to  discourage  her 
by  quoting  lines  to  prove  that  '  <  except  a  shell  —  a  ban- 
gle rare  —  a  feather  here  —  a  feather  there  —  the  South 
Pacific  negroes  wear  —  their  native  nothingness  "  and 
of  course  like  their  dolls  to  do  the  same.  However  I 
am  regarded  with  scorn  as  a  scoffer  and  a  secret  foe  to 
Foreign  Missions. 

I  have  just  finished  "  Diana  of  the  Crossways  "  and 
have  fallen  in  love  with  her  and  the  book.  I  like  it  so 
very  much  that  I  hardly  like  to  begin  another  and  am 
resting  on  my  oars.  However  when  I  do  decide  to  read 
another  which  shall  it  be?  What  are  your  favorites? 


Aet.  20  7 

I  don't  think  I  can  ever  thank  you  for  overcoming  my 
idiotic  prejudice  and  introducing  me  to  Meredith  — 
"Meredith  to  you  my  dear,"  as  Elinor  Curtis  would  say, 
who  is  never  tired  of  correcting  me*  on  the  above  little 
slip.  Honestly  though  did  you  coax  me  into  reading 
the  ' '  Egoist "  —  (by  telling  me  I  was  like  Clara)  simply  to 
make  me  ashamed  of  that  theory  I  once  broached  to  you 
as  to  what  sort  of  a  woman  I  should  want  if  I  were  a 
man?  Well,  if  I  were  a  man  —  I  should  take  that  all 
back  and  marry  a  woman  like  Diana  Merion  if  I  could 
find  one  and  she  would  have  me  —  husband  and  lovers 
thrown  in  and  a  prize  in  every  package!  I  am  just  fin- 
ishing "  Maria  Stuart "  with  Paulina  —  reading  "  Minna 
von  Barnhelm  "  and  "  Deutsche  Liebe  "  on  my  own  ac- 
count —  getting  through  Miiller's  ' '  Political  History  of 
Modern  Times  "  and  the  old  ' '  Pickwick  Papers  "  in  the 
bosom  of  my  family  besides  reading  to  myself  the  "  Life 
of  Thomas  Arnold, "  Erckmann-Chatrian's  "  Waterloo," 
Mrs.  Oliphant's  "  Squire  Arden,"  and  "Castle Daly"  — 
so  you  see  with  my  housekeeping,  daily  struggles  with 
Dante,  driving,  idling,  napping  and  pets,  my  days  are 
so  full  that  I  even  begrudge  the  precious  minutes  callers 
take  and  long  letters  are  out  of  the  question  (do  I  hear 
you  murmur  that  you  only  wish  they  were?)  —  even  if 
I  had  anything  to  say. 

I  have  heard  from  Bessie  F.  who  has  gone  to  York  and 

I  have  actually  received  an  epistle  from !  — and  an 

invitation  to declined.     I  have  just  now  written 

another  "declination "  —  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  the  fore  —  to 

visit  my  dear at and  I  begin  to  feel  a  trifle 

ungracious  all  round.  I  told  you,  didn't  I,  how  the 
indignant  Elinor  made  her  way  out  here  and  up  here, 
unexpectedly,  to  demand  the  reason  of  my  cold  and 


8  1889 

strange  behavior?  I  enjoyed  the  dear  thing  beyond 
measure  and  we  found  so  much  to  say  we  had  to  throw 
in  nights  and  all. 

You  always  answer  well  —  like  a  duck  —  to 

Yours  as  ever, 

A.  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

WESTON,  Friday. 
My  dear  Bessie, 

How  kind  you  are  and  how  misguided!  Why  if  you 
had  me  to  visit  you,  you  would  cease  to  like  me  I'm 
sure!  Such  a  hateful,  sickly  homesick  guest  as  I  make 

—  you  are  just  as  sweet  and  dear  tho'  to  ask  me  .  .  . 

At  last  I  have  succeeded  in  getting  "  Rhoda  Fleming  " 
and  am  keeping  and  saving  it  like  raisins  to  the  very 
last  —  a  chapter  after  so  many  pages  in  my  solid  books 
of  which  I  seem  to  have  the  greatest  number  always 
going.  They  accuse  me  of  retiring  to  lie  down  with 
seven  books,  a  block  and  a  dictionary  —  they  don't 
know  that  I  always  take  refuge  in  the  most  frivolous. 

Last  week  however  we  had  quite  a  gay  week  for  us 

—  Elinor  spent  Saturday  and  Sunday  —  Dickson  came 
out  several  times  and  Dorr  made  us  a  visit  of  two  or 
three  days  on  his  way  West,  and  took  Paulina  and  me 
for  a  four  hours'  row  on  the  Charles  River  —  of  which, 
perhaps,  you  have  sometime  heard.     Do  you  know 
what  a  lovely  river  it  is  near  Riverview  and  River- 
side? and  the  woods  so  full  and  green  as  they  are  now? 
I  think  it  is  much  lovelier  than  the  York  about  which 


Aet.  20  9 

half -starved  dwellers  in  the  Marshall  House  make  such 
a  to-do! 

Then  we  found  a  couple  of  great  bends  in  the  river 
just  white  with  pond-lilies  and  spent  a  long  time  over 
them  and  brought  home  a  great  armful.  What  fun  it 
is  picking  them  —  they  have  stems  like  hat-elastic  — 
and  we  stuck  in  the  pads  and  Paulina  made  jumps  and 
nearly  capsized  us  over  each  of  hers  and  we  lost  our 
oars  —  and  eat  hideous  Waltham  chocolate  creams  and 
nothing  broke  the  stillness  of  the  primeval  forest-shad- 
owed spot  but  the  squealing  of  an  infuriated  pig  and 
a  concealed  hand-organ  which  was  grinding  out  that 
novel  air  "  the  last  rose  of  summer."  I  have  lots  to  do 
and  the  end  of  my  paper  as  well  as  my  conscience  tell 
me  it  is  high  time  to  stop.  If  I  can't  get ' '  Beauchamp's 
Career  "  which  shall  I  read?  and  what  next? 

Yours  as  ever, 

A.  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Wednesday. 
My  dear  Elizabeth, 

I  was  just  on  the  eve  of  writing  you,  to  apologize  for 
my  long  silence,  when  I  received  your  letter.  I  was 
very  glad  to  hear  altho'  it  filled  me  with  some  unpleas- 
ant sensations  and  remorse.  However  I  have  been  at 
Manchester  for  a  week  and  since  I  got  back  Weston  has 
done  its  best  to  frivole  itself  into  dissipation.  There 
have  been  tennis-parties,  tournaments,  archery,  church- 
fairs,  barn-parties  etc.  —  in  the  mildest  of  which  I  mildly 
join,  rather  against  my  will,  and  the  last  ripples  of  which 
rather  disturb  that  calm  spot  of  water  in  which  I  have 


10  1889 

seen  fit  to  anchor.  Youth  are  continually  dropping  in 
to  get  Paulina  for  tennis  (that  worst  kind  of  eighteen 
year  old  youth  who  is  too  shy  to  converse  and  much  too 
shy  to  get  away)  or  well  meaning  but  tactless  ladies  to 
see  if  I  am  sure  I  won't  come  to  a  dance  in  the  town- 
hall — a  little  dance —  Young  women  as  I  told  you  be- 
fore are  very  scarce  in  this  part  of  the  country  and  have 
to  be  imported  on  great  occasions. 

Then  before  I  went  to  Elinor  I  was  hardly  fit  to  do 
more  than  crawl  round  and  lose  my  temper  —  a  feat  I 
find  I  am  able  to  accomplish  when  all  else  fails.  There 
"  qui  s' excuse  s' accuse  "  but  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me. 
Enter  Paulina  with  a  fat  letter  from  Lucia  F.  whom  I 
ought  to  have  written  long  ago.  My  soul  cleaveth  unto 
the  dust. 

What  a  lucky  girl  you  are  to  be  able  to  survey  whole 
lines  of  Meredith  on  your  bookshelves  while  the  rest  of 
us  hang  about  libraries  hoping  against  hope  to  find  him 
in  at  last —  sign  our  names  at  the  foot  of  a  long  list  of 
other  aspirants  and  return  empty.  However  I  shan't 
encroach  on  your  kindness  so  far  as  to  borrow  but  wait 
till  my  turn  comes  round  at  the  Athenaeum  for  "Richard 
Feveril "  which  I  have  been  after  all  this  time.  How- 
ever it  is  as  well  to  take  them  slowly  I  think.  The  last 
I  read  was  "Beauchamp's  Career"  and  tho'  I  liked  it 
the  least  of  all  when  I  began,  I  got  to  like  it  more  and 
more  —  and  now  after  chewing  the  cud  of  it  all  these 
weeks  I  put  it  way  up  almost  above  "  Rhoda  "  and  next 
to  "Diana."  How  they  stay  by  you,  don't  they?  I 
mean  the  story  and  the  characters  —  long  after  you  have 
forgotten  the  name  and  the  plot  of  the  mere  novel  you 
read  yesterday  —  and  his  women,  like  Ren£e  for  in- 
stance, who,  while  you  read  it,  seem  so  delicately  drawn 


Aet.  20  11 

as  to  be  shadowy  stand  out  so  clear  —  become  real  peo- 
ple to  you  afterwards.  Isn't  she  fascinating?  I  wish 
she  didn't  slip  back  so  mysteriously  into  the  darkness 
without  a  word.  Cecilia  too  —  who  is  so  fine  tho'  more 
comprehensible.  As  for  Jenny  I  cared  for  her  the  least 
of  all  and  understood  her  the  best  —  but  I  wonder  you 
don't  like  it  more.  Nevil  was  such  an  earnest,  loyal, 
dear  boy!  and  his  uncle  Romfrey  is  such  an  interesting 
character.  You  say  you  have  no  "go  ahead  "  in  you 
and  add  a  "by-the-way  "  about  a  history  course  at  the 
Annex  that  takes  my  breath  away.  I  shall  study  Ital- 
ian by  my  own  unaided  light  at  home  next  winter  but 
shall  attempt  nothing  outside  but  the  concert  and  per- 
haps fencing  —  a  fashionable  form  of  gymnastics  for 
which  I  feel  a  natural  bent. 

Dickson  is  staying  with  us  for  the  next  few  weeks 
—  Anstiss  being  at  Mattapoisett  —  and  has  made  him- 
self very  useful  about  our  Rehearsal  tickets  —  but  he 
eats  so  much  that  my  housekeeping  outlook  is  a  trifle 
depressing. 

Uncle  Melly  landed  in  New  York  yesterday  and  we 
expect  him  today  so  that  we  are  in  a  good  deal  of  excite- 
ment. It  seems  as  tho'  he  had  been  gone  a  year.  I 

ought  to  stop  and  sign  myself 

Yours  as  ever, 

A.  W.  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

(Oct.) 
My  dearest  Bessie, 

I  have  just  packed  up  "  Richard  Feveril"  and  I  hope 
he  will  reach  you  safely .  One  of  his  corners  was  a  little 
bit  jammed  in  coming  and  I  don't  know  how  to  forgive 


12  1889 

myself  for  letting  you  send  him.  I  enjoyed  the  book 
beyond  measure  and  the  tragedy  was  so  much  less  griev- 
ous a  one  than  I  had  expected  that  it  was  a  relief  to 
me.  Fanny  Curtis  —  who  had  not  read  it  —  told  me 
that  the  father  threw  the  son  into  every  horrible  temp- 
tation and  that  he  sunk  under  them  which  is  not  true 
at  all  —  indeed  the  whole  book  does  not  seem  to  be  in- 
decent at  all  —  what  mistaken  notions  people  get!  It 
strikes  me  as  the  cleverest  one  I  have  yet  read.  What 
one  shall  I  read  next,  please?  Uncle  Melly  has  got  home 
and  promises  to  get  me  anyone  out  of  his  own  particu- 
lar library  which  is  so  secluded  that  the  Meredith  fever 
has  not  reached  it. 

When  do  you  come  town-wards?  I  hope  we  shan't 
leave  this  delightful  spot  till  November.  It  is  a  perfect 
wonder  of  crimson  browns  now  and  all  the  marshes  and 
meadows  look  like  Persian  rugs. 

Dickson  has  just  argued  his  first  jury  case  in  which 
he  was  senior-counsel  (the  cent  having  come  down  head 
upwards)  and  won  it  straight,  to  the  great  wonder  of 

every  one.     We  are  doubly  proud  because lost 

it  last  year  with  better  evidence,  ten  to  two  against  him. 
I  ought  to  go  and  tell  my  excited  cook  what  we  want 
for  dinner. 

Yours  very  lovingly, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  21  13 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Dated  from  my  bed 
On  this  Thursday 
The  second  of  October 
In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1890. 
My  dearest  Bessie, 

I  should  have  answered  your  pathetic  letter  at  once 
only  I  was  on  my  last  legs  when  I  received  it  and  all 
yesterday  lay  in  the  dark  with  my  head  tied  up  in  a  wet 
towel  like  a  studious  little  Harvard  student!  Today  I 
am  somewhat  more  rugged  and  hope  to  rally  in  time 
to  go  and  lunch  with  my  dear  Mrs.  Higginson.  By 
the  way,  my  dear,  you  are  not  to  be  uneasy  about  me 
whether  you  hear  or  don't  hear,  for  tho'  my  pains  and 
troubles  increase  rather  than  diminish  I  begin  to  feel 
stronger  morally,  mentally  and  physically  than  I  have 
during  the  summer  and  more  able  to  cope  with  them. 
As  I  tell  Dr.  Mason,  what  can't  a  person  rally  under  with 
a  steady  pulse,  splendid  constitution  and  iron  nerve  such 
as  I  enjoy? 

Jim  Storrow  passed  last  Sunday  with  us  and  we  had 
a  most  delightful  day  and  for  me  a  most  active  one! 
You  remember  what  delicious  weather  it  was  —  just 
cold  enough  to  make  everything  look  sparkling  and  with 
just  enough  cloud  to  take  off  from  the  inanity  of  a  per- 
fectly clear  sky!  The  Higginsons  asked  all  five  of  us 
to  drive  with  them  to  Coffin's  Beach  and  at  ten  two  car- 
riage loads  of  us  started  out  —  I  in  the  place  of  honor 
beside  Mr.  Higginson  and  behind  his  own  particular 
span.  It  takes  nearly  two  hours  from  here  and  two 
hours  back  —  going  by  the  Gloucester  way  and  return- 
ing via  Essex  thro'  the  most  beautiful  wooded  wild 


U  1890 

varied  country  you  ever  saw  —  meadows  green  as  spring 
on  one  side  and  crimson  marshes  on  the  others  —  the 
hectic  flush  of  the  dying  year  (which  is  quite  a  roman- 
tic sentence  for  me,  isn't  it?)  and  great  arches  of  bar- 
berry etc.  etc.  Have  you  ever  been  to  Coffin's  Beach  I 
wonder?  If  you  have,  description  would  seem  inade- 
quate and  if  you  haven't  no  description  could  give  you 
the  least  idea  of  the  grandeur  of  it.  It's  an  immense 
curve  of  three  or  four  miles,  I  should  say,  and  for  a  mile 
or  more  inward  there  are  immense  rolling  changing 
dunes  of  the  whitest,  finest  sand  you  ever  saw!  — 
precisely  like  powdered  sugar  to  a  house-keeping  eye. 
These  are  partly  overgrown  with  coarse  marsh  grasses 
that  rattle  when  the  wind  blows  thro'  them  and  are 
usually  buried  in  sand  before  their  death.  Sunday 
there  was  an  attempt  at  a  north-east  gale  out  at  sea 
and  the  tide  was  high  and  breaking  all  along  the  beach 
and  the  sandbar  beyond  with  a  savage  roar  and  foam 
and  hiss.  — I  never  saw  anything  so  splendid  or  so  piti- 
less —  the  sea  almost  black  broken  into  white  and  all 
against  a  sky  of  the  serenest  blue.  You  don't  know 
what  a  magnificent  picture  it  made  standing  back  so 
as  to  see  it  framed  between  two  rolling  sand  hills!  — 
broken  white  or  feathery  with  grasses. 

I  saw  Sarah  Thayer  the  other  day  (she  was  visiting 
the  Putnams)  and  she  told  me  that  Dora  was  at  that 
moment  either  in  Concord  or  gone  to  pass  the  day  at 
Coffin's  Beach.  It  must  be  a  source  of  unfailing  delight 
to  a  person  of  artistic  leanings  like  Dora  —  indeed  Dr. 
Emerson  has  painted  it  so  much  that  now  he  has  built 
himself  a  little  house  among  the  dunes  where  he  and 
his  wife  pass  months.  Mrs.  Higginson  described  bring- 
ing them  a  pair  of  chickens  once  and  being  received  — 


Aet.  21  15 

and  her  gift  more  especially  with  tears  of  delight  —  Mrs. 
Emerson  had  been  too  sick  to  be  left  alone  and  they 
could  get  nothing  to  eat  and  were  half  starved  to  death. 
I  mean  to  get  that  new  novel  of  Meredith's  as  soon  as 
my  male  relatives  seem  in  a  complacent  frame  of  mind. 
I  am  hungry  and  thirsty  for  a  good  novel;  —  indeed  for 
a  novel  of  any  kind!  I  have  been  luxuriating  in  Tenny- 
son's poetry  of  late,  notwithstanding  that  I  know  him 
nearly  by  heart  already,  and  a  little  before  that  had  a 
craze  for  Browning  during  which  I  read  his  life  and  as 
many  volumes  of  his  poems  as  I  could  lay  my  hands  on. 
How  magnificent  he  is  at  his  best  and  even  at  his  worst 
you  feel  the  noble  purpose  and  lookout  of  the  man.  Of 
course  you  have  read  this  new  man  Henley's  poems  and 
what  not,  haven't  you?  and  his  essay  on  Meredith  in 
' '  Views  and  Reviews  "  ?  The  last  is  scrappy  but  rather 
interesting  and  some  of  his  poems  (omitting  the  hospi- 
tal ones,  which  seem  to  me  dreadful)  are  exceedingly 
pretty  —  particularly  the  last  rondeau  —  don't  you  think 
so?  I  have  just  been  re-reading  Mrs.  Gask  ell's  "Life 
of  Charlotte  Bronte"  —  I  wonder  if  you  ever  read  it? 
It  isn't  very  well  written  in  one  sense  and  Miss  Bronte 
isn't  to  me  personally  attractive  (she  seems  to  lack  what 
they  call  winsomeness)  but  for  all  that  it  is  very  inter- 
esting. A  more  dreary,  sad,  dreadful  life  —  spent  in 
constant  anxiety  and  ill-health  and  (literally)  among 
tombs  it  is  hard  to  conceive  of.  One  almost  laughs  at 
the  culmination  of  misfortunes  —  the  piling  up  of  agony 
so  to  speak. 

We  don't  come  back  till  the  15th  and  perhaps  not  till 
later  if  the  weather  holds  warm  and  fine.  Last  week 
it  was  so  cold  we  had  to  drive  in  mittens  and  nose-bags. 
Paulina  is  spending  a  farewell  week  at  Waltham  with 


16  1890 

Ethel  Paine  and  writes  that  they  expect  Mr.  Brooks  out 
there  for  a  day  or  two  which  rejoices  her  soul.  Isn't 
this  a  nice  long  letter?  nice  in  the  Pickwickian  sense? 

from 

Yours  as  ever, 

ALICE  W.  SMITH. 


Aet.  22  17 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

[Spring,  1891.] 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  expected,  tho'  without  much  ground  perhaps,  that 
you  would  have  the  grace  to  write  first  and  have  accord- 
ingly been  waiting  in  dignified  silence  for  you  to  begin. 
Since  you  haven't,  I  drop  you  a  line  to  let  you  know 
the  rules  of  the  game.  When  a  lady  leaves  for  a  remote 
country  where  she  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but 
write  it  is  the  evident  duty  of  the  busy  lady  left  in  town 
to  write  first.  Seriously  tho'  have  you  heard  anything 
of  the  Fosters?  have  you  had  so  much  as  a  word  from 
Bessie? 

We  are  waiting  supper  for  Dickson  which  is  always 
an  uncomfortable  process  as  food  cooked  for  six-thirty 
sharp  is  apt  to  be  a  trifle  more  unsavory  at  half-past 
seven  than  it  would  be  at  quarter  past  nine  if  only  the 
belated  traveller  could  be  prevailed  on  to  think  so. 

Next  week  we  expect  not  only  Dickson  but  wife,  nurse 
and  child  for  a  week  and  then  there  is  a  blank  broken 
by  a  promised  visit  of  a  long  afternoon  and  night  and 
morning  from  Mr.  Brooks. 

Paulina  attended  the  Convention  to  see  him  elected 
away  from  us  and  we  were  all  in  such  a  condition  by 
that  time  that  we  would  not  take  him  back  at  any  price. 
I  sent  word  to  him  to  know  if  he  was  going  to  be  very 
English  indeed  and  sign  himself  by  the  name  of  his  see, 
"Phillips  Massachusetts"  and  he  sent  back  word  that 
he  couldn't  tell  what  little  tricks  he  might  fall  into  but 
I  might  be  sure  the  first  letter  signed  that  way  would 
be  to  me.  English  habits  don't  seem  to  be  very  well 
adapted  to  our  prosaic  ways.  Reginald  St.  Davids  does 


18  1891 

very  well  and  James  Ebor  isn't  bad  but  when  it  comes 
to  John  Central  New  York  — 

It  is  looking  beautifully  here.  The  apple-blossoms 
just  in  their  prime  and  I  am  picking  up  a  vulgar  amount 
of  strength.  I  even  walk  a  little  and  sleep  and  eat  as 
only  country  folks  can.  I  can't  get  enough  books  tho' 
—  I  read  two  a  day  on  an  average.  Can  you  recommend 
any?  How  is  Meredith's  last? 

Supper. 

Yours  abruptly  but  affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Tuesday. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Ever  since  Paulina  saw  you  on  Class-day  and  you 
said  you  had  written  me  I  have  been  on  the  lookout  for 
that  letter  but  it  has  never  reached  me.  Whether  it  has 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  my  "Double"  in  the  vil- 
lage or  wandered  off  to  Manchester,  New  Hampshire  or 
whether  it  is  altogether  a  myth  I  cannot  decide  but 
stoutly  maintain  that  it  doesn't  count.  I've  not  had 
a  single  line  from  you  since  I  reached  here  and  am  all 
the  more  disgusted  because  you  are  usually  so  good  a 
correspondent. 

Did  you  know  that  the  Fosters  are  absolutely  at 
home?  in  Boston  or  rather  I  suppose  they  are,  as  Rex 
wrote  mamma  he  expected  them  Friday  last.  I'm 
greatly  troubled  as  to  how  I  am  to  manage  to  see  Bessie 
as  I'm  afraid  she  can't  come  to  me  and  I  know  I  ought 
not  to  try  to  get  to  her  against  the  strict  injunctions 
of  my  temporal  authorities  in  general. 

I  have  been  having  a  good  many  faint  poor  turns  off 


Aet.  23  19 

and  on  but  on  the  whole  am  better  I  think,  tho'  the  hot 
weather  was  pretty  hard  on  us  all.  Tho'  we  don't  nom- 
inally have  any  one  to  visit  us  here  people  do  turn  up. 
P's  friends  and  Dickson  and  old  family  heirlooms.  One 
of  Uncle  Melly's  little  mates  is  spending  Sunday  with 
us  and  Dickson  and  Jim  come  tomorrow.  Friday  the 
Chief  Justice  turned  up  unexpectedly  with  Mrs.  Fuller 
and  one  of  the  numerous  daughters  and  we  had  a  delight- 
ful little  visit  from  him,  only  rivalled  by  the  one  from 
Bishop  Brooks  two  weeks  ago.  He  came  down  early 
one  day  and  left  late  the  next  and  sat  way  into  the  night 
talking  and  was  perfectly  delightful. 

Every  one  is  down  here  this  year  (or  it  seems  as  if 
they  were  when  we  spasmodically  attempt  our  social 
duties)  and  among  them  our  dear  Mrs.  Higginson  whom 
we  see  almost  every  day. 

I  am  reading  a  novel  or  two,  one  solid  history,  Lord 
Shaftesbury's  Life  in  3  vols.  and  Napier's  in  four  and 
I've  just  finished  Carlyle's  "  Past  and  Present."  I'm 
ashamed  to  say  I  never  read  it  before  but  I  enjoyed  it 
beyond  measure. 

I  ought  to  go  and  try  to  get  a  little  rest  —  but  I 
wanted  you  to  know  my  very  good  reason  for  not  an- 
swering that  letter  of  yours. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Christmas,  1891. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Thank  you  for  your  kind  remembrance  of  me.  I  shall 
proceed  to  jot  down  my  thoughts  secular  and  otherwise 
in  the  little  note-book  you  sent  me  which  will  probably 


20  1891 

read  like  those  memorandum-books  of  mine  over  which 
my  family  and  friends  make  so  merry,  in  which  corn- 
beef  and  cabbage  hob-nob  with  the  date  of  Savonarola's 
death  and  a  list  of  groceries  meanders  across  a  quota- 
tion from  the  poets. 

Our  family  or  rather  a  portion  of  it  has  been  down 
with  what  the  Manchester  natives  call  "the  Lagrippe," 
but  are  now  reluctantly  on  the  road  to  recovery.  I  and 
Paulina  escaped  but  Paulina  persists  in  thinking  that  to 
be  the  only  member  of  the  family  just  at  Christmas  time 
has  its  drawbacks. 

It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you  and  I  hope  you 
will  come  in  soon  and  drink  tea  out  of  one  of  my  new 
tea-cups  of  which  I  always  have  a  new  supply  every 
holiday. 

I  hope  the  photograph  arrived  safely  and  that  you 
recognized  whom  it  was  supposed  to  represent.  It  isn't 
often  I  feel  in  such  a  chastened  and  sentimental  mood. 

Yours  as  ever, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

And  wishing  you  a  happy  New  Year! 


Aet.  23  21 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

WEST  MANCHESTER, 
Sunday  Evening. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Here  we  have  been  for  a  week  and  a  day  (to  be  quite 
accurate)  and  I  haven't  written  you  yet  tho'  I've  meant 
to  every  morning  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  was  not  to  see 
you  once  again  to  bid  you  a  less  scrappy  and  conditional 
good-bye.  My  last  two  days  were  as  crowded  and  un- 
comfortable as  such  days  always  are  with  one  morning 
two  doctors  around  with  stethoscopes  talking  their  jar- 
gon over  my  prostrate  form  and  the  other  more  delight- 
fully filled  by  a  long  tete-a-tete  call  from  my  Bishop. 

We  arrived  here  in  the  most  beautiful  sunny  after- 
noon when  nature  supplied  the  rose  colored  spectacles 
and  since  then  have  been  congratulating  ourselves  on 
the  backwardness  of  the  spring  here  so  that  we  are  able 
to  watch  things  spring  up  from  the  very  beginning  —  a 
rare  treat  to  us  cockneys.  My  bird  and  Freckles  the 
dog  have  also  kindly  taken  to  the  soil  and  the  latter  has 
tempted  me  into  exercising  more  than  I  have  done  all 
winter.  I  have  finally  succeeded  in  getting  the  "  Little 
Minister"  which  I  finished  very  shortly.  It  falls  far 
short  of  a  "  Window  in  Thrums,"  it  seems  to  me,  tho' 
most  interesting;  "Babbie"  is  charming  but  what  a 
pity  that  the  last  chapter  was  not  omitted  and  don't  you 
think  it  a  mistake  not  to  have  concentrated  the  plot  on 
one  rather  startling  denouement  rather  than  on  two?  I 
am  re-reading  the  ' '  Egoist " — the  first  of  Meredith  I  ever 
attempted  and  the  only  one  I  felt  no  inclination  to  read 
again.  To  my  surprise  I  enjoy  it  beyond  measure.  I 
have  you  to  thank  for  conquering  my  foolish  prejudice 


22  1892 

and  giving  me  so  much  pleasure.  Write  when  you  have 
time  —  not  before.  I  am  a  confirmed  idler  with  a  life 
of  spare  hours  you  know. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Saturday,  Aug.  27th. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  have  been  wishing  this  long  time  to  write  and  thank 
you  for  your  letter  which  was  delightfully  long  and 
penned  apparently  in  less  breathless  haste  than  usual 
from  which  I  argued  and  hoped  that  you  were  giving 
the  flesh  a  little  rest.  And  by  the  way,  my  dear,  you 
mustn't  speak  as  if  you  thought  so  much  too  well  of 
me  —  it  hurts  —  it  makes  me  feel  ashamed  and  out  of 
love  with  the  idle,  self-indulgent,  pleasant,  petted  life  I 
lead.  My  mission  seems  to  be  to  supply  an  object  for 
all  the  kindness,  patience  and  self-sacrificing  love  of  all 
my  friends  and  relations.  Speaking  of  Mr.  Brooks  —  in 
a  few  weeks  now  he  sails  for  home,  when  he  has  prom- 
ised to  come  down  and  pass  the  night  with  us.  When 
you  ask  me  if  I  have  read  this  and  that  I  feel  like  a  kind 
of  literary  Rip  Van  Winkle,  some  fifty  years  behind- 
hand and  blinking  hopelessly  over  the  new  names.  The 
"  Naulahka  "  I  have  read  till  within  the  last  chapters  and 
tho'  parts  interested  me,  I  was  surprised  at  the  poorness 
of  the  story  as  a  whole.  That  seems  to  be  the  great 
trouble  of  collaboration,  with  the  single  exception  of 
those  literary  Siamese  twins,  Erckmann-Chatrian.  As 
for  the  rest  I  spend  my  leisure  in  following  that  old  bit 
of  advice,  —  "When  a  new  book  is  published  read  an  old 


Aet.  23  23 

one,"  and  we  have  been  reading  accordingly  our  every  - 
year  quota  of  well-known  Austen,  Scott  and  George 
Eliot  aloud.  Then  I  have  been  revelling  in  some  six 
volumes  of  Sainte-Beuve  with  a  snatch  at  Browning 
every  now  and  then.  Isn't  it  odd  that  when  you  take 
up  a  volume  of  B.  you  always  turn  to  the  poems  you 
know  best,  and  always  read  them  with  new  delight  and 
deeper  comprehension  ?  Lately  I  have  been  reading  dear 
Dorothy  Osborn's  letters  to  her  lover,  and  a  journal  of 
Caroline  Fox.  Did  you  ever  see  it?  The  notes  about 
men  she  met  and  she  met  everyone — written  by  such  a 
sweet  womanly  creature  as  you  can  tell  by  the  occa- 
sional unconscious  glimpses  you  get  at  herself  behind 
the  notes.  After  Mallock  and  Hardy  and  Mrs.  Hum- 
phrey Ward  it  is  a  relief  to  turn  to  the  records  of  so 
pure  and  cool  and  self -restrained  a  life  —  not  that  I  don't 
think  David  Grieve  most  attractive  personally  and  Tess 
a  most  lovable  sweet  woman.  When  you  read  that 
most  unpleasant  story,  don't  you  find  yourself  pitying 
Tess  and  Clare  —  both  so  pure  —  for  having  so  coarse  a 
biographer?  Saying  to  yourself  —  this  isn't  her  fault  or 
his  where  the  descriptions  are  gross  and  sensual  —  this 
is  Hardy  —  but  I  believe  you  like  Hardy  better  than  I  do? 
We  still  go  on  Monday  mornings  to  Mrs.  Tyson's 
house  where  Mrs.  Whitman  reads  to  us  and  now  we 
have  coaxed  Mrs.  Higginson  into  going  with  us  so  that 
the  day  makes  a  kind  of  epoch  in  our  quiet  week,  but 
why  do  I  say  quiet?  Of  late  we  have  been  rather  gay. 


I  have  come  to  the  end  of  my  paper  and  am  as  always 

Yours, 

ALICE  W.  S. 


24:  1892 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

[Autumn,  1892.] 

Monday. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  meant  to  write  you  last  week  to  tell  you  how  sorry 
I  was  to  miss  you  the  morning  you  called  and  now 
I  only  write  because  I  am  in  trouble  and  know  you 
will  be  sorry  for  me.  Do  you  remember  my  little 
''Freckles"?  The  cocker  spaniel  I  bought  in  the  spring 
or  did  you  never  see  him?  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was 
a  sweeter  dearer  more  affectionate  little  fellow.  Ever 
since  I  got  him  he  has  slept  on  my  bed  at  night  and  on 
my  sofa  in  the  day  time  —  sat  with  me  when  I  had  my 
meals  upstairs  and  had  his  chair  in  the  dining  room  and 
his  chair  in  the  parlor  at  tea-time.  I  wish  you  had  seen 
him  just  once  this  fall.  On  Friday  he  was  run  over  and 
took  a  few  steps  and  died  almost  instantly  without  any 
pain  the  doctor  says.  He  was  unconscious  when  Paulina 
lifted  him  up  and  brought  him  up  the  hill  and  on  Sat- 
urday we  had  him  buried  at  Manchester  under  a  tree 
near  my  window.  I  like  to  think  what  a  nice  summer 
he  had  springing  thro'  the  woods  and  the  dry  brush- 
wood after  imaginary  birds  or  sitting  in  the  wire  door 
waiting  for  us  to  come  home,  wagging  all  over  when  he 
saw  us.  If  you  could  ever  have  seen  him  when  I  was 
in  a  violent  attack  of  pain!  resting  his  nose  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  and  with  his  eyes  as  if  they  were  full  of 
tears  —  and  the  day  after  I  had  had  a  bad  night  he  would 
scarcely  leave  me.  Don't  think  me  very  silly  please! 
I  can't  tell  you  how  dreadfully  I  miss  the  dear  little 
thing. 

Tonight  we  are  to  have  a  dinner  to  which  we  have 


Aet.  24  25 

been  looking  forward  this  long  time  —  Bishop  Brooks 
and  Mr.  Edward  Hooper  and  his  daughter  and  Ethel 
Paine  and  two  younger  men  —  but  it  seems  as  if  the 
pleasure  had  gone  out  of  everything. 

Yours  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

November. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  have  driven  by  your  house  several  times  in  my 
meanderings  with  Uncle  Melly  and  { '  Blumpy "  the 
horse.  You  remember  the  French  family  of  Blancpied 
who  settled  in  Gloucester  don't  you?  and  one  branch 
was  called  Whitefoot  and  the  other  Blumpy.  The 
horse's  original  name  was  Whitefoot  but  the  other 
better  describes  his  gorming  gait  and  general  style. 
Well,  to  go  back  to  the  subject  one  before  last.  I've 
driven  by  your  house  and  supposed  that  like  the  woman 
in  the  train  whom  Mrs.  Luce  overheard  answering  a 
question  as  to  where  she  lived  with  a  "I  go  to  Salem 
evenings,"  —  that  you  possibly  went  back  there  when 
it  was  dark. 

What  do  you  mean  about  birds?  are  you  studying  to 
be  an  amateur  taxidermist  like  Mabel  Cabot  or  isn't  the 
word  " birds"  at  all?  I  myself  have  set  up  a  canary 
and  knitting  which  is  my  conception  of  ze  part  of  spin- 
ster aunt.  As  for  reading!  I  read  nothing  more  mod- 
ern than  Marcus  Aurelius.  I  wish  you  would  bring  Miss 
Butler  in  to  tea  sometime.  I  long  to  know  her  —  not 
merely  to  stare  at  her  shyly  from  a  distance.  Like  the 
Snark  I  continue  to  "  breakfast  at  afternoon  tea  "  and 


26  1892 

am  absolutely  unseeable  even  to  my  "  bestest "  till  then. 
These  last  two  weeks  I  have  been  more  miserable  than 
usual  and  have  only  crawled  down — when  I  did  get 
down  —  by  sitting  on  the  stairs  every  few  steps  and 
creeping  back  again  in  an  hour  or  more  but  I'm  better 
again  and  refuse  Dr.  Mason's  suggestion  of  staying  en- 
tirely abed  and  seeing  peculiarly  interesting  five  o'clock 
guests  there.  I  tell  him  it  might  do  for  Bishop  Brooks 
(who  made  us  such  a  nice  long  call  the  other  day  attired 
to  my  disappointment  in  an  ordinary  hat  and  coat)  but 
hardly  for  Mr.  John  E.  Russell. 

I  was  glad  to  hear  from  you  since  I  can't  see  you  and 

am  as  ever 

Yours, 

ALICE  W.  S. 
Saturday. 


Aet.  24  27 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

"  Be  able  to  be  alone.  Lose  not  the  advantage  of 
Solitude  and  the  Society  of  thyself;  nor  be  only  content 
but  delight  to  be  alone  and  single  with  Omnipresency. 
He  who  is  thus  prepared,  the  day  is  not  uneasy  nor  the 
night  black  unto  him.  Darkness  may  bound  his  eyes 
not  his  imagination.  In  his  bed,  he  may  speculate  the 
universe  and  enjoy  the  whole  world  in  the  hermitage  of 
himself.  Thus  the  old  ascetic  Christians  found  a  para- 
dise in  a  desert  and  with  little  converse  on  earth  held  a 
conversation  in  heaven." 

How  dear  how  soothing  to  man  arises  the  idea  of  God 
peopling  the  lonely  places,  effacing  the  scars  of  our  mis- 
takes and  disappointments.  It  inspires  in  man  an  in- 
fallible trust.  He  has  not  the  conviction  but  the  sight 
that  the  best  is  true  and  may  in  that  thought  easily  dis- 
miss all  particular  uncertainties  and  fears.  He  is  sure 
that  his  welfare  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  being.  He  be- 
lieves that  he  cannot  escape  from  his  good.  The  things 
which  are  really  for  thee  gravitate  to  thee.  I  believe 
as  thou  livest  that  every  sound  that  is  spoken  over  the 
round  world  which  thou  oughtest  to  hear  will  vibrate 
on  thine  ear.  Every  friend  whom  not  thy  fantastic  will 
but  the  great  and  tender  heart  in  thee  craveth  shall  lock 
thee  in  his  embrace. 


28  1893 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 
Dear  Bessie, 

We  have  been  helped  and  strengthened  to  bear  this 
unutterable  grief  by  the  thought  of  how  beautiful  it 
must  be  for  him  and  in  the  loneliest  times  by  the  thought 
of  how  he  would  have  wished  us  to  bear  it.  It  is  the 
first  trouble  we  have  ever  had  to  bear  without  him  and 
the  sorest. 

Thank  you  for  your  sympathy  of  which  I  am  always 

sure. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

February,  Tuesday  Evening. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  wonder  if  you  ever  get  time  to  come  in  town  and 
whether  the  morning  would  suit  you  better  than  the 
late  afternoon?  One  hour  is  as  good  for  me  as  another 
now  as  I  have  had  no  heart  to  see  people  and  don't  at- 
tempt to  go  downstairs  at  five.  I  do  see  three  or  four 
people  who  are  very  good  and  kind  and  come  constantly 
and  I  should  like  so  much  to  see  you  any  time  when  you 
are  in  town  and  have  half  an  hour  to  spare.  I  do  so 
long  to  do  something  for  somebody  and  not  keep  all  my 
happiness  to  myself  and  you  do  so  much.  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  just  let  my  life  slip  thro'  my  careless  fingers  and 
now  that  I  long  to  do  some  little  thing  there  are  so  few 
whose  lives  touch  mine. 

At  least  one  can  sympathize  with  the  workers. 

Yours  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  24  29 

To  MBS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday  Evening. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Dexter, 

While  Paulina  is  practicing  her  hymns  I  have  her 
permission  to  write  you  a  note  if  it  is  very  short.  She 
wanted  to  know  what  I  wanted  to  say  in  it  and  I  could 
not  tell.  I  just  feel  lonely  and  as  if  it  would  be  a  com- 
fort to  even  direct  an  envelope  to  you  and  tell  you  how 
sorry  I  was  to  be  robbed  of  your  call  yesterday. 

We  had  a  pleasant  drive  barring  crude  changes  from 
snow  to  slush  and  from  high  ice-banks  under  one  runner 
to  water  and  horse-car  rails  under  the  other  —  and  found 
Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Brooks  at  home  and  made  them  a 
long  call.  It  was  very  comforting  in  a  great  many  ways. 
They  talked  so  much  about  Mr.  Brooks  and  read  us  one 
of  his  letters  and  told  us  so  many  little  things  and  then 
more  than  all  one  felt  one  was  a  real  help  to  them,  poor 
things,  and  could  not  only  understand  what  this  grief 
was  to  them  but  could  say  a  little  something  to  comfort 
them.  I  have  felt  all  along  that  nothing  could  make 
me  so  happy  now  as  doing  something  for  Gertrude.  It 
seems  so  directly  a  doing  something  for  him  —  and  both 
she  and  her  mother  are  so  responsive  to  sympathy  and 
so  sweet  and  unselfish  about  it  that  it  is  very  easy. 
Mrs.  Brooks  told  us  with  tears  that  we  must  think  of 
them  as  a  charge  now  —  understanding  I  suppose  what 
a  comfort  that  was  to  us. 

Have  you  read  the  All  Saints'  Day  Sermon  lately?  It 
is  so  particularly  beautiful,  but  then  they  all  are.  This 
is  all  just  to  sign  myself 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE. 


30  1893 

To  HER  SISTER. 

[Easter  Even,  1893.] 
Saturday,  9-30. 

As  you  have  been  gone  but  twenty  minutes  by  Shrews- 
bury clock  not  much  cream,  as  mamma  calls  items,  has 
had  time  to  collect.  Valentina  and  the  Judge  are  well 
and  boof  uls  —  their  young  simply  well.  Of  course  Julia 
glanced  gloomily  into  the  nest  and  said  solemnly,  ' '  Miss 
Alice,  I  think  one  of  them  is  gone,"  meaning  dead.  I 
don't  know  what  were  her  grounds  for  saying  so  as  four 
serpentine  necks  were  waving  under  her  very  eyes  and 
four  orange  beaks  held  wide  open.  Certainly  if  they  do 
"go"  it  won't  be  from  lock-jaw. 

Enter  "the  Green-Eyed  "  laden  down  with  your  Sew- 
ing School  letters  like  a  postman  and  with  an  anxious 
and  care-worn  look.  It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  she 
said,  that  Sewing  School  might  be  at  ten  instead  of  half 
past.  She  or  Mrs.  Paine  are  to  come  in  this  afternoon 
and  tend  me  while  Momb  attends  the  Christening.  It 
takes  at  least  half  the  adult  population  of  Boston  to  take 
the  place  of  Mrs.  Jellyby  gone  off  for  a  week's  pleasur- 
ing. I  myself  sit  with  the  zenana  funds  clasped  to  my 
bosom,  the  budget  open  in  my  claws  and  a  pen  dipped 
in  ink  ready  to  jot  down  anything  at  a  moment's  notice 
—  while  mamma  "prowling"  out  to  do  the  marketing 
has  left  the  brown  eyed  doll  propped  up  in  the  arm  chair 
ready  to  be  seized  up  and  finished  on  her  return. 

How  I  dote! 

Saturday,  2  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Brooks  has  sent  me  that  picture  of  a  Burne-Jones- 
looking  head  that  hung  I  think  in  Mr.  Brooks's  spare- 


Aet.  24  31 

room  and  you  a  glass  vase  he  kept  on  his  dressing  table. 
I  have  sent  her  some  flowers  —  thanked  her  for  both  of 
us  and  explained  that  you  were  away.  I  only  wish 
yours  had  been  something  a  little  less  breakable  because 
you  would  feel  so  dreadfully  if  anything  happened  to  it. 

My  flowers  begin  to  "Hech  gather."  A  basket  just 
came  in  from  the  Paine's  full  of  violets,  heath  and  the 
most  gorgeous  scarlet-red  "jacks"  which  I  have  been 
lying  down  to  stare  into. 

Dickson  has  started  for  Cambridge  with  a  claret  bot- 
tle on  either  hip  like  John  Gilpin,  curly  ears  being  sup- 
plied by  the  bearer. 

Dost  love? 

NANNY. 

P.S.  The  largest  bunch  of  violets  you  ever  saw  has 
just  come  for  me,  from  whom  do  you  think?  A  new 
admirer,  Mrs.  Royal  Bobbins. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Easter  Morning. 
My  own  dear, 

I  have  just  got  back  from  early  Communion  and  am 
a  little  tired  but  I  don't  want  to  let  the  day  pass  with- 
out writing  you  and  telling  you  how  beautiful  it  has 
been  in  many  ways.  The  sun  was  shining  into  the 
church  and  the  little  sparrows  twittering  in  the  vines 
and  the  pulpit  all  white  with  Easter  lilies.  At  first  it 
was  almost  too  much  to  bear,  till  one  remembered  what 
he  had  gone  to  and  that  there  is  no  temple  there,  "  for 
the  Lord  God  Almighty  and  the  Lamb  are  the  Temple 
of  it;"  and  I  remembered  what  he  said  in  his  Easter 
Sermon,  that  if  we  kept  the  city  of  our  hearts  holy,  then 
' '  the  dear  dead  would  come  to  us  and  we  should  know 
they  were  not  dead  but  living  and  bless  Him  who  was 


32  1893 

their  Redeemer  and  rejoice  in  the  work  they  are  doing 
for  Him  in  His  perfect  world." 

I  had  scarcely  reached  home  before  I  received  the  most 
beautiful  Easter  present  from  Mrs.  Brimmer  —  the  pho- 
tograph Mr.  Brooks  gave  you  of  himself,  enlarged  almost 
to  the  size  of  my  Botticelli  (only  square)  and  framed  in 
a  broad  gold  frame  that  throws  it  out  superbly  and  you 
have  no  idea  how  much  more  beautiful  it  is  even  than 
the  original.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so  kind?  It 
seems  sometimes  as  if  this  world  were  just  over-running 
with  kindness  and  people  only  wanted  an  object  —  like 
me  —  to  lavish  it  on.  If  it  wasn't  that,  I  should  feel 
almost  too  ashamed  to  stand  up  under  people's  kind- 
ness. Last  night  dear  Mrs.  Paine  brought  me  down  the 
two  sizes  of  that  enlarged  photograph  which  are  both 
perfectly  lovely  and  a  big  one  taken  from  the  bust,  and 
another  Easter  lily  came  and  a  lot  of  violets  from  Bessie 
Hamlen  and  primroses  from  Elinor,  and  this  morning 
the  most  beautiful  of  all,  a  dozen  white  roses  from  Mrs. 
Lodge.  Will  you  thank  her  for  me?  and  tell  her  that 
they  were  so  perfectly  lovely  that  I  felt  I  must  share 
them  with  some  one  and  carried  four  of  them  to  Ger- 
trude Brooks  this  morning  on  my  way  to  church.  So 
you  see  my  room  is  bright  with  flowers  and  pictures  and 
among  the  flowers  stands  a  downy  gosling  sent  by  Mrs. 
Whitman  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird.  Greatly  to  Nathalie's 
amusement  the  man  who  brought  the  parcel  evidently 
thought  they  were  real  people  —  I  mean  humans  —  and 
repeated  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird,  don't  they  live  here?" 
Something  like  the  Fleur  de  Luce  incident. 

With  a  great  deal  of  love  to  Mrs.  Lodge  and  still  more 
to  yourself  I  am 

Your  own  sister, 

NANNY. 


Aet.  24  33 

To  HER  SISTER. 

[April] 
Saturday  morning. 

Its  nice  to  think  of  your  visit  as  nearly  over  (tho'  my 
nurses  rudely  express  their  disgust  at  your  return)  for 
Hamlet  and  I  are  both  getting  desperate.  He  distin- 
guished himself  last  night  by  digging  several  small  holes 
in  the  lily  pot  —  he  said  because  it  needed  fresh  earth 
about  the  roots  but  I  think  he  had  a  faint  hope  of  find- 
ing S'Tanta  if  he  got  down  far  enough.  He  has  begun 
to  be  a  little  doubtful  of  her  having  been  in  the  furnace 
all  this  time,  tho'  he  still  listens  down  the  register  in 
case  — 

I  wasn't  ' '  real  rugged  "  yesterday  but  rallied  under 
Ellen's  nursing  in  time  to  enjoy  a  long  call  from  Miss 
Lowell  and  a  still  longer  one  from  that  dear  Mrs.  Hig- 
ginson. 

Dora  Thayer  came  Thursday  and  drank  tea  with  me 
and  I  missed  Mrs.  Paine  that  afternoon  and  again  yes- 
terday. She  is  coming  again  today.  Elinor  also  writes 
that  the  Blue  Hill  walk  is  too  long  and  she  is  coming  in 
this  afternoon  and  that  viper  Ellen  will  have  to  give  her 
Monday  morning  when  Mamma  goes  to  her  ' '  Employ- 
ment Society."  It's  as  well  Ethel  is  housed  and  so  out 
of  the  running,  or  it  would  have  been  as  I  foretold,  and 
only  seven  parrot  feathers  would  have  remained  of  your 
once  lovely  sister.  By  the  way,  when  are  we  to  expect 
you?'  not  before  Wednesday  evening  I  hope  —  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  have  to  come  home  sooner  when  you  are 
having  such  a  perfectly  lovely  time  and  seriously  we 


34  1893 

would  rather  you  had  the  extra  days  there  than  see  you 
a  little  sooner. 

Enter  Mrs.  Paine. 

Your  doting 

"COMPANION  SISTER." 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Tuesday  Morning. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

All  the  things  that  made  my  room  at  all  homelike  had 
been  packed,  locked  and  strapped  when  your  roses  and 
pansies  arrived  to  cheer  my  spirits  by  brightening  even 
this  desert  up  and  reminding  me  of  you.  I  shall  be  able 
to  lie  still  and  enjoy  them  till  late  this  afternoon  when 
they  will  travel  down  with  me  and  will  make,  with  my 
sermons  and  my  precious  photographs,  the  room  at  Man- 
chester as  nearly  like  my  dear  old  room  here  as  possible. 
I  only  wish  Waltham  were  just  over  the  Higginson  hill 
or  even  nearer,  and  tho'  I  know  it  is  wrong,  I  can't  help 
regarding  the  summer  as  a  dreary  blank  which  divides 
us  from  Boston  with  all  whom  we  love  best  and  the  dear 
associations  which  make  it  sacred. 

I  never  can  thank  you,  nor  indeed  half  begin  to  tell 
you,  dear  Mrs.  Paine,  what  you  have  been  to  us  all 
through  this  dreary  spring.  We  have  looked  forward 
to  your  and  Ethel's  visits  like  the  bright  spots  in  our 
days  and  shall  look  forward  to  your  rarer  visits  all  thro' 
the  summer  which  seems  so  long  as  one  thinks  of  it. 
However  we  only  have  to  live  one  day  at  a  time  and 
strength  is  given  even  at  the  darkest.  Have  you  read 


Aet.  24  35 

the  "  Great  Expectation  "  lately?     It  has  made  me  feel 
so  much  less  dreary  at  the  idea  of  moving. 

Always  most  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

[April]  Tuesday  morning. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

We  were  half  in  hopes  you  would  forget  that  yester- 
day was  not  your  Monday  and  turn  up  to  lunch  and 
felt  quite  aggrieved  when  you  did  not.  I  am  a  much 
more  sprightly  companion  than  I  was  a  week  ago,  and 
Sunday  I  absolutely  dressed  for  the  first  time  and  went 
downstairs  without  the  doctor's  permission  and  felt  none 
the  worse.  Indeed  I  am  so  much  better  that  I  can  hardly 
believe  I  ever  felt  as  I  did  those  four  days  and  nights 
when  I  shrank  from  so  much  as  moving  a  finger  and 
only  wanted  to  bid  you  all  good-bye  before  the  next  at- 
tack. I  never  realized  before  how  much  I  loved  you  all 
and  how  dear  the  old  familiar  life  was  which,  these  last 
months,  has  seemed  such  dreary  uphill  work.  I  think 
being  so  ill  has  really  helped  me  to  feel  how  much  I  have 
left  and  that  each  day  is  a  real  gift  and  blessing.  I 
hope  I  shan't  frighten  you  all  so  badly  for  a  long  time 
to  come. 

We  have  put  off  our  going  to  Manchester  till  Monday, 
the  eighth  —  partly  on  my  account  and  partly  on  account 
of  the  rest  of  the  family  whose  desire  for  one  more  week 
in  town  is  unanimous.  So  you  see  you  will  have  to 
lunch  here  at  least  once  more. 

Most  affectionately, 

ALICE. 


36  1893 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Friday  Evening. 
My  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  am  feeling  so  much  better  today  that  I  want  to  write 
and  tell  you  so  myself  and  beg  you  not  to  distress  your- 
self on  my  account  nor  alarm  yourself  as  I  am  afraid 
you  do.  I've  lots  of  strength  and  youth  to  fall  back 
upon,  you  know,  and  as  for  the  pain  and  discomfort  — 
that  has  brought  so  much  love  and  happiness  along  with 
it  that  I  really  regard  it  as  the  greatest  blessing  that 
could  have  happened  to  me.  You  know  sometimes  your 
affection  makes  me  quite  humbled  and  ashamed,  and 
would  always,  if  I  didn't  feel  that  you  loved  me  because 
you  were  you,  and  not  because  I  was  I,  and  that  all  the 
glamor  is  in  your  own  eyes.  I  wanted  to  write  and  tell 
you  how  little  I  deserve  it  just  after  you  left  Wednes- 
day, but  Paulina  was  resolute  in  refusing  to  let  me  have 
pen  and  paper  and  after  all,  it  isn't  a  question  of  de- 
serving, is  it?  If  you  will  only  go  on  loving  me  per- 
haps sometime,  somewhere  I  shall  be  what  you  think 
me  now  and  in  the  meanwhile  your  friendship  is  such  a 
help  and  comfort. 

Do  you  remember  in  that  "  Golden  Key"  of  McDon- 
ald's, how  the  boy  and  girl  are  told  not  to  lose  heart  if 
they  lose  each  other  for  awhile  as  they  get  nearer  to  the 
land  whence  the  shadows  fall?  If  we  have  lost  our 
guide  for  a  little  time,  we  must  cling  the  closer  to  each 
other  I  suppose  and  go  on  hoping  and  trusting  however 
dark  it  seems. 

I  have  got  back  to  my  copying  again  and  wrote  a  page 
or  two  from  one  of  Miss  Minns'  sermons  today  —  such  a 
beautiful  one  on  the  doubting  Thomas.  When  Paulina 
is  away  you  must  let  me  read  them  all  to  you. 


Aet.  24  37 

Paulina  has  just  got  back  from  spending  a  night  with 
Gertrude  Brooks  in  Andover;  it  was  very  pleasant  to 
her  to  see  it  again. 

The  little  boys  are  very  dear  —  particularly  Robert 
who  has  come  to  take  quite  a  tender  interest  in  Aunt 
Alice  who  can't  go  out  to  play  on  the  rocks.  —  One  of 
the  first  things  he  told  his  mother  when  she  got  home 
tonight  was  that  the  doctor  said  I  was  ezzy  much  better 
and  that  I  had  seen  him  and  baby  —  both.  I  think 
they  look  upon  me  as  a  mysterious  and  sphinx-like 
character  like  that  invalid  in  Mrs.  Ritchie — simply  a 
voice  and  an  appetite.  What  an  epistle,  but  I  know 

you  will  forgive  me. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

WEST  MANCHESTER, 
Sunday,  June  25th. 
Dear  Mrs.  Paine, 

Mamma  has  been  meaning  to  write  you  every  day 
these  past  weeks  to  tell  you  how  we  were  all  getting 
on  and  had  just  sent  her  letter  to  the  post  when  yours 
arrived.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  feel  your  writing 
me  on  that  day,  though  every  day  now  seems  like  an 
anniversary  and  the  real  ones  are  the  easiest  to  bear. 
I  should  have  written  you  myself  only,  since  you  were 
here,  I  have  been  down  in  the  depths  again,  and  now 
that  I  am  a  little  better  again  Gertrude  Brooks  and 
Bessie  Foster  have  both  made  us  a  short  visit  which 
means  for  me  a  long  rest  too,  tho'  seeing  them  was  the 
greatest  comfort  and  help,  mentally.  Bessie  Foster  is 


38  1893 

one  of  my  oldest  and  dearest  friends,  and  as  she  is  ex- 
iled all  winter  on  account  of  her  lungs  and  only  comes 
to  the  sea  for  a  day  or  so  under  protest,  her  yearly  visit 
here  is  something  I  look  forward  to  most  eagerly  and 
back  on  with  delight.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  say  some 
things  than  to  write  them  and  a  short  talk  makes  it 
easier  to  take  up  letters  again.  Gertrude  Brooks  was 
as  sweet  as  she  could  be  and  we  had  lovely  weather 
and  sent  her  back  apparently  much  refreshed.  Paulina 
and  I  had  filled  a  copy  of  "In  Memoriam"  with  wild 
flowers  pressed  and  stuck  in  opposite  certain  lines  and 
verses  that  we  thought  would  comfort  her  and  her 
pleasure  at  receiving  it  was  most  touching  —  particu- 
larly as  it  had  been  the  greatest  happiness  to  us  to  do 
it.  She  wrote  me  before  she  came  that  she  was  going 
to  copy  out  the  sonnets  for  me  as  soon  as  they  got  back 
from  New  York  and  send  them  with  one  of  the  photo- 
graphs of  Mr.  Brooks's  study,  which  is  something  to 
look  forward  to —  I  suppose  it  is  very  wrong  but  I 
can't  help  feeling  as  if  there  were  no  more  future  —  in 
this  world  I  mean  —  only  just  the  day's  burden  to  bear 
with  what  strength  we  can  and  the  great  meeting  to 
look  forward  to.  —  As  far  as  the  personal  loss  is  con- 
cerned each  hour  makes  it  harder  I  think  and  seems  to 
add  the  dull  weight  of  another  day  to  the  new  life 
which  we  have  had  to  take  up  without  him.  It  is 
like  what  he  says  in  one  of  the  sermons,  "Why  so 
much  duty  with  so  little  strength?  Why  only  the  jour- 
ney and  the  hunger  and  the  thirst  without  the  brook  of 
refreshment  by  the  way?  "  Then  again  there  will  come 
times  when  it  all  seems  so  beautiful  and  clear  —  where 
it  is  easy  to  see  how  it  must  be  for  the  best,  and  that 
that  is  the  last  most  precious  thing  our  love  can  do  for 


Aet.  24  39 

him,  to  forget  our  own  grief  in  thinking  what  this  must 
mean  to  him.  It  comforts  me  when  the  black  feeling 
comes  on  just  to  repeat,  "He  asked  life  of  Thee  and 
Thou  gavest  him  a  long  life  even  forever  and  ever;" 
and  Christ's  comfort  to  his  disciples  when  they  were 
just  beginning  to  feel  the  bitterness  and  horror  of  sepa- 
ration, "  If  ye  loved  me  ye  would  rejoice  because  I  said 
I  go  unto  the  Father  —  "  It  is  hardest  tho'  when  one 
has  to  see  people  —  people  that  don't  understand.  If  I 
had  to,  I  suppose  it  would  be  easier,  but  being  so  much 
in  my  bed  and  not  even  driving  encourages  that  kind 
of  selfishness  and  folly  I  suppose,  so  that  I  shrink  at  the 
very  idea  of  seeing  most  people,  even  old  friends.  Ellen 
Hooper,  tho',  is  very  different  and  I  am  looking  forward 
to  seeing  her  a  great  deal  this  summer,  and  Mrs.  Fred 
Dexter  and  Mrs.  Whitman  are  most  devoted;  and  now 
we  shall  see  the  Higginsons  who  finally  have  got  into 
their  house  in  spite  of  plumbers.  Paulina  has  just  got 
home  from  hearing  Dean  Lawrence  and  wishes  me  to 
ask  if  it  would  be  quite  convenient  for  you  to  have  her 
come  to  Waltham  Thursday  afternoon  and  stay  till 
Saturday  morning?  Is  there  the  slightest  chance  of 
your  being  able  to  lunch  with  us  here  on  Thursday  and 
letting  her  go  back  with  you?  or  coming  back  with  her 
Saturday  to  lunch?  I  hope  there  is  and  that  Ethel  will 
forgive  me  for  saying  that  the  whole  family  are  hungry 

to  see  you. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  XVV~ESTON  SMITH. 


40  1893 

To  MRS.  EGBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Sunday,  July  23rd. 
My  dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Tho'  feeling  rather  weak  and  good-for-nothing  under 
the  combined  effects  of  dynamite  and  a  sulphonal  that 
didn't  work,  I  don't  want  to  let  today  pass  without  writ- 
ing you  a  line.  It  is  pleasant  and  comforting  to  have  it 
come  on  a  Sunday,  isn't  it?  and  on  such  a  Sunday,  with 
a  cloudless  sky  and  a  fresh  cool  breeze  that  makes  the 
sea  look  as  it  does  in  the  autumn  and  with  all  the  leaves 
glistening  after  the  rain.  I  have  been  lying  here  close 
to  the  window  so  as  to  drink  it  all  in  and  reading  "  An 
Easter  Sermon  "  to  the  sound  of  the  church  bells.  Some- 
how on  such  a  day  one  can't  help  feeling  ' '  the  glory  of 
the  sum  of  things  "  and  understanding,  however  faintly, 
a  little  of  what  the  Bible  means  by  "peace." 

Since  you  were  here  I  have  been  very  ill  —  indeed 
Tuesday  night  for  an  hour  or  so  I  was  alarmingly  so  — 
but  I  have  been  a  great  deal  better  mentally  since  that 
few  minutes  talk  alone  with  you  which  comforted  and 
helped  me  beyond  measure  and  seemed  to  clear  up  the 
clouds  somehow  and  start  me  on  a  fresh  bit  of  the  road. 
What  I  felt  was  foolish  and  morbid.  I  know  what  Ten- 
nyson meant  by  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind,  and  one 
doesn't  want  to  convey  one's  selfishness  into  what  ought 
to  be,  above  all  things,  kept  sacred  and  pure. 

I  was  interrupted  by  a  visitation  from  Dr.  who 

if  he  does  nothing  else,  affords  me  a  constant  source  of 
amusement  by  talking  of  * '  general  measures,  my  dear 
Miss  Smith,"  of  the  evils  of  animal  food  and  the  advan- 


Aet.  24  41 

tages  of  "  A. B. C. "  wheat.  ' '  Whoever  "  he  says  ' '  heard 
of  a  cow  having  neuralgia?  "  (or  of  a  tiger's  having  ner- 
vous headache  for  that  matter).  I  tell  Paulina  his  pana- 
cea is  ' '  eat  parsley  and  spring  from  the  ankle  "  and  that 
probably  the  explanation  of  Nebuchadnezzar's  extraor- 
dinary behavior  was  that  his  own  doctor  being  away,  he 

called  in  a  Babylonish  Dr.  who  turned  him  out  to 

grass. 

Please  give  my  dearest  love  to  Lily  and  believe  me, 

Most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

[August] 

MANCHESTER,  Monday  morning. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

You  can't  tell  how  flattered  I've  been  at  receiving  so 
many  note-letters  from  so  non-committal  a  correspond- 
ent as  you  usually  prove;  and  you  may  be  sure  I  should 
have  answered  you  long  e'er  this,  if  we  hadn't  been  keep- 
ing a  kind  of  amateurish  summer  hotel,  these  last  four 
or  five  days,  which  is  an  unusual  enough  thing  in  this 
inhospitable  mansion.  Gertrude  Brooks  came  on  Sat- 
urday to  pass  Sunday  and  she  is  still  staying  here,  tho' 
for  the  moment  she  is  off  on  a  five  houue'  bout  with 
Paulina,  first  to  hear  Mrs.  Whitman  read  at  the  Tyson's 
and  then  to  lunch  with  Mrs.  Higginson.  Ethel  was  here 
when  she  came  (and  indeed  till  Saturday  evening)  hav- 
ing come  down  Friday  to  go  to  the  Curtis's  party;  for 
which  purpose  we  had  Dickson  also  and  Bay  Lodge  — 
the  most  delightful  story-telling,  overgrown,  handsome 


42  1893 

boy  with  a  strong  sense  of  humor  and  a  most  becoming 
appreciation  of  other  people's  jokes. 

Speaking  of  the  Curtis's  party  and  old  jests  your  de- 
scription of  your  "  Eagle  Mountain  House  "  diversions 
reminds  me  of  my  own  weak  witticism  that  "  one  swal- 
low-tale coat  doesn't  make  a  summer  party,"  at  which 
Mrs.  Whitman  remarked,  * '  Alice,  that  is  indeed  a  clas- 
sic! "  which  may  have  been  a  delicate  way  of  saying 
that  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  any  one  would  ap- 
preciate it.  She  was  here  Wednesday,  and  Thursday 
Paulina  and  Ellen  Hooper  poured  tea  there  for  as  many 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chapman's  friends  as  cared  to  ride  forth 
upon  a  nor'east  gale  to  see  them.  Paulina  was  made 
happy  by  seeing  Mr.  Brimmer  for  quite  a  while  and  came 
home  much  infatuated  over  the  looks  of  Victor  Chap- 
man who  seems  (for  a  youth  raised  up  on  the  Lilias 
Mohun  Rule  of  Love-Theory)  to  have  conducted  himself 
with  singular  propriety.  Did  you  see,  by  the  way,  that 
American  admirers  of  Aunt  Charlotte  were  also  invited 
to  contribute  their  shilling  to  her  birthday  fund?  and 
that  with  this  modest  donation  every  admirer  was  to 
send  a  sheet  of  criticism  on  her  works  —  all  to  be  bound 
together  and  presented  with  the  money.  A  fascinating 
gift. 

I  am  trying  among  other  things  to  wade  thro'  Sy- 
monds'  "Life  of  Michelangelo  "  and  think  John  Adding- 
ton  coarse  and  carnally  minded  on  every  line  —  Seeing 
that  you  like  him,  is  this  kind?  It  reminds  me  of  Mrs. 
Dalton's  saying  that  she  was  so  used,  when  she  praised 
a  book,  to  have  some  one  crop  up  and  say  ' <  but  didn't 
you  think  it  a  little  —  common?  "  that  she  now  hedges 
herself  to  begin  with  and  is  careful  to  begin,  "  I  am  read- 


Aet.  24  43 

ing  Watts's  Hymns  —   Slightly  coarse,  I  know,  but  still 

etc." 

I  am  so  glad  you  will  come  down  in  September  —  of 
course  you  must!  Anstiss,  Dickson,  children  and  at- 
tendants appear  here  on  Saturday  the  2nd  for  two  weeks, 
which  I  suppose  will  mean  till  Monday  the  18th,  but  after 
that  fires  will  be  kept  burning  to  welcome  you  at  any 
time.  You  will  come  like  help  to  the  perishing,  for  I 
shall  be  pining  alone  without  Paulina  who  goes  out  to 
Chicago  via  Montreal  and  Quebec  and  Niagara  and 
comes  back  that  way  —  at  any  rate  she  starts  on  Sep- 
tember 14th  for  two  weeks  with  the  Higginsons,  who 
asked  her  the  other  night  to  be  a  member  of  their 
family  during  the  trip  and  represented  their  reasons 
for  wanting  her  as  purely  selfish — of  course!  Ellen 
Hooper,  Pauline  Shaw  and  Elinor  are  to  go  at  the  same 
time  and,  of  course,  Paulina  is  half  wild  with  delight. 
Isn't  she  in  luck  —  quite  apart  from  all  she  is  to  see  for 
the  first  time.  I  don't  think  I  ever  scrawled  so  and  my 
brain  is  quite  topsy  as  to  spelling.  As  the  Scotchman 
said  "  Wha  can  spell  with  sic  a  pen?  "  but  nevertheless 
and  always  I  am  your  loving 

"SNAP." 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Friday,  Aug.  18. 
My  dearest  Elizabuff, 

I've  been  straining  at  the  leash  to  write  you  this  many 
a  long  day  and  will  be  put  off  no  longer  let  come  what 
will.  I've  not  been  well  (to  put  it  mildly)  but  while 


44  1893 

these  fingers  can  clutch  pen-stock  etc.,  etc.,  I  will  give 
the  lie  to  Sydney  Smith's  unpleasant  simile  that  corre- 
spondences were  "like  small-clothes  before  the  inven- 
tion of  suspenders  —  it  is  impossible  to  keep  them  up." 

I  wonder  if  you  had  the  same  weather  we  did,  a  week 
ago  Sunday  and  Monday  ?  Regular  stage  thunderstorms 
every  few  minutes  —  striking  playfully  in  Lynn,  Salem, 
Boston,  Magnolia  and  so  on.  I  lay  at  least  three  hours 
in  the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta  (i.e.,  the  front  entry  with 
the  doors  shut)  and  Sunday  evening  and  night  was  more 
like  the  Walpurgis  ditto  with  Herbert  Lyman  arriving 
on  a  bicycle  for  a  night's  shelter  to  take  the  part  of 
these  unpleasant  people  who  arrived  on  sows  during 
that  mysterious  occasion.  Since  tfcen  till  yesterday  we 
have  had  the  most  delicious  weather  —  Paulina  told  you, 
didn't  she,  of  her  picnic  at  Coffin's  Beach  on  Fanny 
Hooper's  birthday?  Mr.  Hooper  himself  didn't  go,  hav- 
ing a  pet  aversion  to  that  kind  of  entertainment.  He 
says  he  always  remembers  the  scorn  with  which  Mr. 
Sohier  described  Mr.  Patrick  Jackson  as  "  the  sort  of 
man  who  would  walk  ten  miles  to  eat  bread  and  cheese 
under  a  tree  with  his  aunt!  "  By  the  way  he  told  us  of 
a  most  "  Whitmanesque  "  note  he  had  just  received  ask- 
ing him  to  dine  with  the  Mr.  Myers  of  Psychical  Re- 
search fame  and  adding,  ' '  I  think  you  will  find  him 
more  of  a  lion  than  a  unicorn!  "  I  think  it  would  take 
Mr.  Myers  himself  to  tell  what  she  meant  —  if  anything. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Higginson  come  to  see  us  as  devotedly 
as  ever  and  Mr.  Higginson  is  beginning  to  look  a  little 
less  worn  out  and  discouraged  about  your  old  stock 


Aet.  24  45 

market.  As  I  wish  to  keep  Sam  Weller's  art  of  letter 
writing —  "  to  make  your  correspondent  wish  for  more  " 
I  must  come  to  a  sudden  stop  but  not  before  telling 
you  that  in  a  review  of  Sergeant  Belasis'  Life  (Tracta- 
rian  Movement)  it  spoke  of  his  having  met  Wilber- 
force  and  Keble  while  visiting  the  Yonges  at  Otterburn! 
Aunt  Charlotte  always  did  keep  the  best  of  high-church 
society. 

Your  devoted 

NANNY. 

P .S.  I  ordered  you  a  little  Tauchnitz  edition  of  Charles 
Kingsley's  Life  the  other  day  in  hopes  you  might  be 
induced  to  read  it  in  that  form  and  they  send  me  word 
that  it  will  be  here  in  six  weeks!  Why  on  earth  it  takes 
so  long  unless  they  are  going  to  have  it  printed  as  well 
as  bound  I  can't  see  but  at  all  events  don't  read  it  till 
then,  will  you? 


To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

MANCHESTER  [Aug.  21], 

Saturday  Eve. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  feel  that  I  must  write  you  a  line  just  to  tell  you  how 
nice  it  was  to  see  you  and  to  renew  the  old  bond  —  not 
of  friendship,  which  needs  no  renewing  —  but  of  use. 
The  only  thing  I  regret  was  the  shortness  of  your  stay 
which  kept  us  necessarily  on  superficial  subjects;  but 
you  must  write  me  when  you  can,  won't  you,  and  tell 
me  all  that  you  are  doing  and  as  much  of  what  you  are 
thinking  as  can  get  itself  put  down  on  paper.  I  will 


46  1893 

write  you  faithfully,  by  which  I  mean  often  and  regu- 
larly and  without  waiting  for  answers,  which  I  always 
looked  on  as  an  absurd  ceremony  between  friends.  It 
will  be  a  real  pleasure  to  me  and  I  have  plenty  of  time  — 
if  only  I  am  well  enough.  You  won't  think  it  very 
absurd,  I  know,  if  I  tell  you  that  even  the  thought  of 
doing  so  little  as  writing  to  my  near  friends  seems  like 
daylight  somehow  in  the  midst  of  a  future  very  dark 
at  times.  In  one  sense  I  feel  as  if  my  life  had  come  to 
an  end  last  January  and  that  since  then  I  had  been 
struggling  along  in  the  loneliness  and  darkness  with 
"  my  horizon  gone  "  and  only  the  certainty  "  as  the  day 
so  would  my  strength  be  "  and  that  with  patience  and 
trust  the  top  of  this  long  steep  hill  would  be  reached 
from  which  I  should  see  clearly  the  real  horizon  —  the 
goal  of  all  our  lives.  Don't  think  I  mean  to  complain  — 
indeed  I  have  never  been  so  really  happy  as  I  am  when 
the  grief  is  most  overwhelming.  It  is  then  one  sees  be- 
yond and  to  live  by  faith  and  not  by  sight  seems  beauti- 
ful and  natural.  Indeed  so  much  joy  has  come  to  me 
in  all  my  life  that  I  long  to  share  it  with  some  one  who 
could  use  it  better. 

What  a  long  note  and  all  about  myself,  but  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  what  we  did  not  reach  while  you  were  here. 
If  you  do  see  Miss  Ireland  or  write  her  please  remember 
me  to  her.  I  should  have  written  myself  long  ago  and 
half  decided  to  and  then  was  afraid  it  might  be  only  an 
awkward  intrusion  after  all. 


Affectionately, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  24  47 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

MANCHESTER, 
Sunday  Morning 

[Sept.  4]. 
My  own  dearest  Gertrude, 

This  envelope  has  been  directed  to  you  almost  since 
you  left  us  and  I  had  hoped  to  write  the  letter  to  put 
in  it  so  that  it  would  reach  you  when  you  got  back 
from  Beverly,  but  Wednesday  night  I  was  taken  very 
ill  and  the  doctor  has  been  keeping  me  abed  and  dread- 
fully quiet  ever  since.  However  everything  turns  out 
for  the  best  and,  by  waiting  so  docilely,  I  can  not  only 
write  you  myself,  but  send  you  our  last  letter  from  Mrs. 
Beaumont  and  with  it  the  long  lost  one  which  went 
out  to  Weston  (where  we  spent  a  summer  four  years 
ago,  strangely  enough!)  and  then  was  returned  to  her. 
We  are  delighted  to  have  it  at  last  and  we  thought  you 
would  like  to  see  it  too  —  Paulina  can  bring  it  back  when 
she  goes  to  Andover  on  Thursday.  She  is  looking  for- 
ward so  much  to  her  night  there  and  I  can't  tell  you 
with  how  much  pleasure  we  look  back  on  your  little 
visit  here  and  how  very  very  glad  we  are  if  it  refreshed 
you  and  gave  you  new  courage  for  the  heavy  burden  you 
have  to  bear.  I  know  that  the  thought  of  you,  dear 
Gertrude,  has  helped  me  in  many  a  dark  time  and  the 
idea  that  I  may  be  of  some  little  comfort  to  you  makes 
me  face  almost  with  courage  the  sad  hard  winter  that 
is  coming.  After  all  if  we  think  of  him  and  not  of  our- 
selves all  the  rest  of  our  lives  it  seems  to  me  must  be  a 
psalm  of  joy  and  thanksgiving  for  the  work  that  he  has 
done  and  is  doing  for  God  —  and  the  rest  that  he  has 
now.  "Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard" — and  the 
days  and  months  and  years  which  seem  so  long  now  will 


4:8  1893 

not  seem  so  long  there  when,  please  God,  we  shall  all 
be  together  with  no  fear  of  parting  any  more. 

Anstiss  and  Dickson  and  their  two  little  boys  came 
yesterday  morning,  and  tho'  I  have  not  been  allowed  to 
see  the  children  yet,  I  have  heard  their  voices  and  little 
feet  trotting  up  and  down  stairs  and  pattering  over  my 
head  —  most  unusual  sounds  in  this  grown-up  house- 
hold. The  youngest  one  dives  head  foremost  into  the 
blackberry  bushes  and  the  horses'  stalls  and  is  most 
rapturously  adventurous  generally.  He  woke  up  this 
morning  muttering  "Two  good  horses — fourtarriages" 
as  tho'  he  were  going  to  make  an  inventory  of  our  pos- 
sessions beginning  with  the  stables.  Robert,  who  is 
nearly  four  is  much  quieter  and  devotes  himself  to 
Hamlet  whose  three  tricks  so  impress  him  with  that 
small  "person's"  intelligence  that  this  morning  he  was 
discovered  seated  on  the  ground  showing  him  a  picture 
book.  Hamlet  liked  the  book  better  than  a  toy  horse 
they  bought  and  at  which  he  barks  ferociously  at 
intervals. 

The  paper  only  gives  me  room  to  sign  myself 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

[September  14th.] 
MANCHESTER, 

Thursday  afternoon,  4-30. 
Dearest  Tweeby  — 

I  am  going  to  write  even  tho'  the  afternoon  mail  has 
not  come  to  hand  but  if  it  is  as  thrilling  as  the  morning 


Aet.  24  49 

budget  —  which  consisted  of  an  advertisement  of  Mrs. 
Coyle  nee  Collins  —  I  can  put  it  in  the  appendix.  To 
begin  these  —  a  la  Momb  —  I  am  in  bed  writing  "  my 
own  one  "  —  Mamma  is  lying  on  the  sofa  "  thinking," 
while  near  by  sit  the  birds  doing  the  Grandmother  and 
Grandfather  Smallweed  act  in  opposite  chairs  before 
the  fire,  and  Hamlet,  the  dear  person,  is  futilely  pursu- 
ing buz-fuzzes  in  the  screen-door  and  keeping  an  eye  on 
the  carriages  that  pass  by,  in  case  Aunt  Tweeby  should 
change  her  mind  and  return  to  us.  It  was  only  the 
screen  door  that  prevented  him  and  me  both  from  fling- 
ing ourselves  headlong  from  the  balcony  when  we  saw 
your  blue  hat  disappear  round  the  curve,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  common  round  and  the  daily  task  we 
should  have  continued  to  bay  in  chorus  and  mingle 
our  tears  most  of  the  day.  As  it  was  however  we  are 
really  getting  along  bravely.  Dr.  Washburn  says  that 
mamma's  ailment  is  a  not  uncommon  form  of  indiges- 
tion and  says  that  if  she  will  resume  her  ordinary  diet 

—  walk  every  day  and  "  wear  his  medicated  flannel" 

—  which  last  is  a  quip  of  the  fancy  —  she  will  be  all 
right  in  a  day  or  two.     This  is  a  great  relief  to  my  mind 
as  I  have  a  monopoly  of  sickness  in  these  parts  and 
Hamlet  is  improving  rapidly  and  I  myself  am  "bob- 
bish "  —     I'm  so  sorry  this  couldn't  have  been  yester- 
day and  then  you  needn't  have  gone  off  under  such  a 
Gummidgy  cloud  of  gloom  and  I  might  have  carried 
out  more  fully  the  programme  of  "  jolly  jolly  "  which 
I  had  planned  for  a  last  day  with  my  sister. 

Take  good  care  of  your  dear  self  and  don't  forget 

Your 

"NAN." 


50  1893 

To  HER  SISTER. 

[September  16.] 

MANCHESTER, 

Saturday  Noon. 

Thank  dear  old  N'Elinor  for  her  postscript  and  give 
her  and  Ellen  and  Bella  my  love.  Mrs.  Higginson  too 
of  course.  Some  vegetables  arrived  yesterday  from  her 
garden  which  disappeared  as  green  things  did  before 
Joel's  Locusts  —  and  speaking  of  the  Minor  Prophets 
reminds  me  that  I  have  just  read  that  verse  in  Zechariah 
1 1  corn  shall  make  the  young  men  cheerful  and  new  wine 

the  maids."    It  reads  a  little  like 's  idea  of  modern 

society.  By  the  way  did  you  read  the  "  Spectator  "  be- 
fore you  went  and  did  you  see  that  "  Aunt  Charlotte" 
had  written  a  letter  to  the  Editor  on  flying  ants  begin- 
ning with  some  friends  of  hers  ' '  living  in  Salisbury 
Close  "  —  Wasn't  it  prophetic  our  putting  her  meet- 
ing with  Dr.  Moberly  there,  when  Dr.  Pusey,  or  was  it 
Mr.  Keble,  who  was  "  jealous,"  and  the  world  said,  —  "I 
thought  he  believed  in  celibacy  "  —  but  then  we  always 
were  "prophets  by  trade."  Perhaps  being  a  plain  man, 
like  Captain  Watts,  you  would  like  a  few  facts  for  a 
change  —  such  as  that  Edward  has  just  got  back  with 
the  basket,  that  Anstiss  has  spent  the  morning  in  mak- 
ing calls  while  her  children  have  played  on  the  beach  — 
"  on  the  shores  of  the  loud  sounding  sea,"  my  Gregory 
would  say.  Hamlet's  bites  and  wounds  look  rather  hor- 
rid but  don't  seem  to  affect  his  spirits  at  all.  Last  night 
he  pulled  his  Uncle  Dickson  down  to  the  station  and 
back  and  is  now  sporting  in  the  woods  with  his  "  Gam- 
mudger  "  at  the  other  end  of  his  strap  as  ballast.  Talk- 
ing of  Gammudger,  I  told  her  this  morning  of  a  sweet 


Aet.  24  51 

conception  I  had  and  that  was  to  give  you  my  pink 
wrapper  —  then  clean  lace  would  instantly  be  put  on  it 
and  I  could  take  it  back.  —  Was  this  good?  No  letters 
of  that  peculiarly  delicate  nature  which  I  said  I  would 
forward  instantly  have  as  yet  come  for  you  —  indeed  I 
may  say  that  no  letters,  delicate  or  otherwise  ain't  come 
for  nobody.  Bad  grammar  is  not  funny  —  I  hear  you 
say,  but  remember  Kingsley's  letters  to  Tom  Hughes! 
I  had  a  baddish  turn  early  this  morning  but  it  seems  to 
have  been  just  what  my  constitution  needed  and  has 
even  dispelled  that  state  of  mind  which  mamma  deli- 
cately calls  nervous.  Mamma  is  on  the  mend.  Did  she 
send  you  my  love  last  night  in  doughnut  form?  Do  I 
miss  my  Polens  —  don't  I?  "There's  no  luck  about 
the  house —  When  my  gude  mon's  away." 

YOUR  SIAMESE  TWIN. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday  Morning,  Sept.  21. 
My  own  darling  Tweeby, 

Its  a  whole  week  today  since  you  left  us  and  might 
be  seven  years  for  the  feel  —  which  doesn't  mean  that 
we're  not  doing  splendidly.  —  Indeed  there  hasn't  been 
a  moment  that  I've  not  been  delighted  to  have  you  do- 
ing anything  so  lovely!  Dost  think  thy  "Goat"  so  self- 
ish that  she  would  keep  thee  ever  tethered  by  her  side 
at  that  exciting  centre  —  Haarlem? 

Your  Monday  letter  came  last  night  and  slept  under 
my  pillow  so  that  I  had  a  splendid  night. 

We  decided  last  night  that  even  the  World's  Fair 
could  have  nothing  lovelier  to  offer  than  the  moonlight 


52  1893 

on  the  water  with  an  occasional  little  orange  light  shin- 
ing out  of  the  silver  in  a  window  on  Baker's  Island  or 
on  a  moored  boat  and  today!  everything  blue  and  glisten- 
ing with  the  air  like  iced  champagne.  Does  this  simile 
sound  a  little  like  our  comparing  our  domestic  yellow 
plush  parlor  to  a  gambling  hell? 

I'm  feeling  so  much  better  today  and  yesterday 
"you've  no  conception"  —  indeed  I  may  say  now  that 
Monday  evening  I  wasn't  at  all  well,  as  Momb  would 
say,  that  Monday  night  I  was  pretty  ill,  and  that  Tues- 
day noon  we  sent  off  for  the  doctor  but  by  the  time  he 
got  here  I  was  "  a'loffin  "  and  my  Tweeby  was  not  here 
to  say  "Good  dog,  Nanny  !  " 

By  the  way  you  must  thank  Mrs.  Higginson  for  a 
continual  supply  of  garden  stuff  and  Mr.  Higginson  for 
the  "Forum,"  and  tell  him  that  I  was  so  pleased  and 
excited  that  he  was  absolutely  going  to  get  off  and  join 
you  that  I  forgot  to  say  how  much  I  liked  "  Denise  "  — 
I  hope  you  are  going  to  keep  him  all  the  time  on  that 
mysterious  return  trip  of  yours  touching  at  the  land  of 
the  Midnight  Sun  —  the  Victoria  Falls  —  the  Sources  of 
the  Nile  and  so  on. 

How  I  dote!  in  fact  I  love  you  so  that  sometimes  I 
incline  to  Mamma's  theory  that  we  are  both  insane. 
Have  a  good  time  and  come  home  refreshed  and  if  you 
don't  get  your  letters  regularly,  lay  it  to  the  eccentricity 
of  the  mails  and  not  to  the  unfaithfulness  of  your  de- 
voted family,  who  write  every  few  minutes. 

Yours, 

"NANNY." 


Aet.  24  53 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

WEST  MANCHESTER, 

Saturday,  September  23rd. 
My  dearest  Gertrude, 

I  can't  let  today  pass  without  writing. you,  tho'  I 
had  another  ill  turn  last  night  and  am  more  feeble  this 
morning  than  I  had  hoped  to  be  when  I  was  looking  for- 
ward to  sending  you  a  long  letter  —  and  first  of  all  I 
must  thank  you  for  the  sermons  which  came  safely  on 
Wednesday  and  for  your  thoughtfulness  in  sending  the 
directed  envelope  with  them,  so  that  when  the  time 
comes  to  return  them  my  brother  can  send  them  from  his 
office  to  your  father's.  It  relieves  my  mind  greatly  not 
to  have  to  trust  anything  so  precious  to  the  post.  Please 
thank  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brooks  from  me  and  tell  them  how 
deeply  I  appreciate  their  constant  kindness.  I  do  hope 
the  sermon  on  the  text  from  Ecclesiastes,  ' '  I  said  I  will 
be  wise  but  it  was  far  from  me,"  will  be  published  some 
day.  I  think  it  is  the  most  beautiful  one  I  have  had! 
and  Miss  Lowell,  who  took  care  of  me  an  hour  yester- 
day while  mamma  was  out,  and  read  it  aloud  to  me 
thought  it  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  —  It 
was  quite  new  to  her  too!  I  wonder  if  Paulina  remem- 
bers it?  It  was  preached  last,  I  saw,  in  September,  1890, 
and  she  used  to  go  up  for  Sunday  whenever  she  could 
after  Mr.  Brooks  got  home.  I  will  keep  it  for  her  to 
see,  as  you  say  I  may. 

Paulina  left  feeling  rather  badly  because,  tho'  so  much 
better,  I  was  still  so  weak.  Since  the  attack  I  had  on 
the  30th  of  August,  they  have  kept  me  very  quiet  and 
tho'  it's  more  than  three  weeks  ago  now,  I  have  only  twice 


54  1893 

got  as  far  as  lying  on  the  sofa  instead  of  staying  abed. 
Don't  think  me  very  ill  by  this  but  they  want  me  to 
have  a  real  long  rest  and  not  to  go  dancing  to  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  as  you  know  is  my  wont,  to  see  if  I  approve 
of  what  people  in  the  dining  room  are  saying.  Day  be- 
fore yesterday,  I  was  so  much  better  that  mamma  let 
herself  be  coaxed  into  lunching  with  Mrs.  Brimmer  and 
brought  me  home  such  a  gorgeous  branch  of  crimson 
lilies  to  put  before  my  picture  of  Mr.  Brooks.  It  is  still 
at  the  height  of  glory  today!  and  the  rest  of  the  room 
is  bright  with  vases  full  of  such  flowers  as  remain  from 
the  most  beautiful  box-full  which  Mrs.  Lodge  sent  me 
with  a  note  from  Washington.  How  full  of  kindness 
the  world  is,  isn't  it?  I  have  been  particularly  im- 
pressed by  it  of  late  —  for  since  Paulina  has  been  gone 
so  many  people  have  offered  to  come  and  read  to  me 
while  mamma  went  out.  Yesterday  I  had  Miss  Lowell, 
and  the  day  before  Mrs.  Whitman  and  the  day  before 
that  Mrs.  Dexter.  Rather  different  nurses  from  the 
Sairey  Gamps  and  Betsy  Priggs  of  fiction,  aren't  they? 
I  was  so  glad  to  get  your  long  letter  and  feel  for  you 
and  with  you  more  than  I  can  say.  I  can  see  how  bit- 
terly poor  Paulina  shrinks  from  the  thought  of  going 
back  to  Boston,  which  seems  empty  now,  and  I  scarcely 
dare  let  myself  think  of  it,  trusting  only  that  as  our 
day  so  will  our  strength  be!  You  must  come  and  see 
me  often  and  often,  won't  you?  and  we  will  try  and 
help  each  other  to  see  "  the  star-side  "  of  the  sorrow. 
God  bless  and  comfort  you,  dearest  Gertrude,  and  give 
us  strength  to  bear  patiently  and  lovingly  all  that  He 
sends. 

Always  yours  most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  24  55 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Tuesday,  Oct.  3. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

I  can't  tell  you  how  much  your  letter  affected  me  — 
You  are  always  in  my  prayers  and  in  my  thoughts  and 
so  bound  to  me  by  a  thousand  ties  of  memory  and  asso- 
ciation that  your  life  seems  like  a  piece  of  my  own.  I 
feel  the  tug  at  my  heartstrings  when  you  leave  Boston 
and  by  the  time  you  cross  the  Rockies  the  sensation 
begins  to  get  painful.  This  sounds  a  little  like  Roches- 
ter and  not  unlike  "  Portia  or  by  Passions  Rocked  "  but 
it's  true  for  all  that!  I  suppose  we  poor  jesters  can  be 
fond  of  each  other  despite  our  bells  and  vari-colored 
legs?  I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  you  know  "The  Fool's 
Prayer  "  —  if  that  is  the  name  of  it  —  beginning,  — 

The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells 
And  stood  the  mocking  court  before  ; 
They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 
He  bowed  his  head  and  bent  his  knee 
Upon  the  monarch's  silken  stool ; 
His  pleading  voice  uprose  "  O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me  —  a  fool." 

There  are  two  verses  in  it  that  I  have  always  taken  to 
heart  deeply  —  feeling  with  shame  and  remorse  how  true 
they  were  of  me,  and  one  — 

These  clumsy  feet  still  in  the  mire 
Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end  ; 
These  hard  well-meaning  hands  I  thrust 
Among  the  heartstrings  of  a  friend  — 

I  think  of  constantly. 


56  1893 

You  speak  of  fearing  to  grow  hard  and  bitter  but  no 
one  who  knows  you,  even  a  little,  could  fear  that  for 
you.  From  the  first  and  always,  and  more  and  more 
every  day,  I  have  looked  to  you  as  the  most  tender- 
hearted and  spiritual,  one  to  turn  to  in  time  of  trouble, 
sure  of  comprehension  and  help  and  deep  unspoken 
sympathy.  "Not  everyone  that  saith;  Lord,  Lord, 
shall  enter  into  the  Kingdom  —  but  he  that  doeth  the 
will"  —  and  when  I  think  of  the  way  in  which  you 
have  stood  by  your  friends,  and  faced  your  troubles,  and 
borne  your  burdens,  I  am  ashamed  and  humiliated!  If 
I  were  half  as  plucky  and  unselfish  as  you  are  it  would 
have  spared  my  family  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  anx- 
iety and  distress  —  and  by  the  way,  you  dear  old  thing, 
you  are  not  to  go  and  worry  yourself  about  my  health. 
It  does  all  very  well  to  make  a  hollow  square  and  cry 
"Wolf!!!"  for  the  benefit  of  outsiders  (whose  names 
shall  be  nameless)  but  you  mustn't  be  taken  in  by  it 
yourself  —  you  who  know  "  old  Mother  Hubbard's  dog  " 
and  her  tricks  and  her  manners  —  ' '  man  and  boy  these 
twenty  years!  "  As  for  your  visit  doing  me  harm  —  I 
have  been  a  great  deal  better  since  the  first  moment  I 
cast  eyes  on  my  Boosie!  I  am  to  try  the  sofa  -today,  an 
armchair  tomorrow  and  perhaps  a  trip  downstairs  at 
the  end  of  the  week.  Wednesday  next,  I  believe,  they 
have  set  on  to  move  me  up  —  per  carriage  and  four  and 
after  we  are  safely  at  home  Paulina  shall  write  you.  I 
take  my  -"  meddy  "  from  your  china  spoon  —  am  fanned 
with  the  fan  you  brought  me  and  at  off  moments  con- 
template the  gold  rabbit  and  tray  and  think  of  you 

always.    I  return s  letter  which  I  found  surprisingly 

sprightly.     At  the  same  time  I  was  tempted,  as  it  is 


Aet.  24  57 

delicately  termed,  "to  alter  the  spelling  to  suit  the 
usages  of  the  present  day." 

The  jest  book  has  noticeably  fattened  since  your  visit 
and  I  have  sunned  myself,  socially,  in  borrowed  plumes. 
"Undertaking's  a  trade  you  can't  push  "  I  kept  for  Mr. 
Higginson's  private  tooth,  knowing  it  would  delight  him 
beyond  measure,  as  it  did. 

Here  I  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  huge  tray 
bearing  Paulina's  and  my  lunch  which  we  have  just 
eaten  in  deshabille  (a  la  Sairey  Gamp)  on  the  bed. 
Would  you  had  been  here  to  share  it! 

Always  your  loving 

ALICIA. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Friday,  the  13th  [October]. 
Dearest  Aunt  Boosie, 

I  was  delighted  to  get  your  letter  and  to  hear  you 
were  really  better.  As  for  me,  I  bore  a  three  hours' 

drive  up  to  town  so  well  that  I  begin  to  think 

showed  her  usual  ' '  shrewdness  "  when  she  tenderly 
asked  if  "our  dear  Alice  were  not  a  malade  imagi- 
naire?"  Apropos  of  "growing  girls,"  I  have  made 
two  mild  jests  of  the  type  which  Paulina  terms  "  ghoul- 
sh"  —  but  then  she  and  mamma  are,  at  times,  singu- 
larly deficient  in  humor. 

Well,  the  other  night  when  I  was  having  rather  a 
tempestuous  struggle  for  breath,  I  was  overcome  with 


58  1893 

an  amusing  notion  —  at  least  it  struck  me  as  amusing 
—  tho'  it  did  not  so  appear  to  my  glum  companions  — 
and  that  was,  ' '  Good  recipe  for  life  —  First  catch  your 
breath."  The  other  was  apropos  of  my  three  long-suf- 
fering physicians,  who  having  tried  all  their  poisons  on 
me,  now  simply  "  hope  "  I  will  be  more  comfortable.  I 
tell  mamma  that  it's  a  good  joke  getting  in  serried  ranks 
of  specialists  merely  to  exclaim  in  chorus,  ' '  May  good 
digestion  wait  on  appetite  and  health  on  both! "  But 
now  to  the  real  subject  of  my  letter  which  is,  of  course, 
Keble.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  dear,  so  saintly 
or  so  easily  amused?  (Like  the  stage  peasant  who 
"laughs  at  such  mild  jokes  that  if  he  ever  heard  a 
good  one  it  would  kill  him  "  — )  and  then  his  having 
instrumental  music  when  he  wrote  his  sermons  and 
(we  presume)  sackbut  and  cymbals  during  meals.  By 
the  way  did  you  read  the  "Musings"  and  do  you  re 
member  Aunt  Charlotte's  comment  and  quotation  from 
' '  Lyra  Innocentium  "  on  the  First  Sunday  after  Christ- 
mas? "Assuredly  'showing  off'  is  fatal  to  the  little 
ones,  whose  only  protection  against  its  evils  lies  in  that 
shyness  which  coaxing  and  flattery  endeavor  to  destroy. 
Never,  perhaps,  did  the  true  welfare  of  children  more 
need  that  their  friends  should  take  home  the  admonition; 

'  Think  of  the  babes  of  Judah's  royal  line  ;  — 
Display  once  touched  them  with  her  parching  glare ; 
Once,  and  for  ages  four  they  bear  the  sign ; 
The  fifth  beheld  them  chained  in  Babel's  Lair ' ! ! !  " 

Think  of  the  poor  little  things  being  "shown  off"  once 
by  injudicious  friends  and  having  to  bear  such  a  hideous 
and  incomprehensible  penalty! 

Did  you  ever  read  anything  more  delightfully  con- 


Aet.  24  59 

fused  and  like  herself  than  Aunt  C's  recollections?  We 
decided  that  she  probably  thought  she  moulded  her  style 
on  St.  Paul's  —  Paulina  suggested  Corinthians —  "  Or," 
said  Nanny,  "The  Circumcision  of  Titus  "  (Galatians,  ii). 

By  the  way  your  objection  to  St.  Paul  is  something 
like  President  Eliot's  insuperable  dislike  of  David — 
who  can't  read  the  Psalms  on  account  of  the  Psalm- 
ist's love  for  Bathsheba,  and  then  hies  him  to  a  Mormon 
stronghold  to  make  complimentary  allusions  to  Brigham 
Young. 

I  am  re-reading Farrar's  "Life  of  St.  Paul,"  or  rather 
I  am  having  it  read  to  me  by  mamma,  who  said  it  was  a 
relief  to  her  to  find  that  St.  Paul  really  was  three  years 
in  Arabia  before  he  went  up  to  Jerusalem.  James  Free- 
man Clarke  had  said  so  but  she  hadn't  believed  it.  I 
told  her  she  might  have  resorted  to  the  simple  expedi- 
ent of  consulting  St.  Paul  himself.  There  are  several 
passages  on  heathendom  and  the  Hellenic  spirit  in  Far- 
rar  and  one  particularly  bitter  and  outspoken  one  on 
the  24:0th  page  of  the  first  volume,  which  I  should  like 
to  read  to  the  shade  of  your  friend  John  Addington 
Symonds.  Paulina  resumed  his  ' '  Life  of  Michelangelo  " 
the  other  day  with  the  usual  expression  of  resigned  de- 
spair with  which  one  reads  that  tedious  and  repulsive 
folio.  She  was  tired  of  pointless  details  as  to  when  he 
hired  his  apprentices,  she  said,  and  couldn't  keep  his 
brothers  apart.  Who  was  Buonarotto?  Why  Simone 
etc.  I  told  her  it  would  simplify  matters  if  she  grasped 
the  first  great  principle  that  in  Italian  families  some 
members  went  by  their  first  names  alone  —  some  simply 
by  their  middle  —  others  by  their  last,  and  one  at  least 
by  his  place  of  residence  (or  where  he  saw  fit  to  pay 
his  taxes  for  the  time  being):  and  that  it  would  not  con- 


60  1893 

fuse  the  more  intelligent  of  our  friends  if  she,  Dickson 
and  I  called  ourselves  for  the  future  simply  "Cony," 
"Smith, "and  "West  Manchester."—  "What  a  fool 
you  can  be  "  I  hear  you  say  with  that  brutal  frankness 
learnt  at  Hursley  Vicarage  —  but  I  have  really  no  facts 
to  communicate  except  that  Ethel  is  coming  to  lunch, 
that  Paulina  is  entertaining  Ellen  Hooper  below-stairs, 
and  mamma  is  revelling  with  her  trunks  overhead,  and 

oh!  yes, is  to  marry  her  "girlhood's  choice "  on  the 

25th  of  this  very  month.  Paulina  and  Mr.  Higginson 
were  discussing  whether  they  would  be  married  in  the 
Catholic  Cathedral  or  by  a  Buddhist  Priest  when  it  was 
suddenly  borne  in  upon  me  that  the  ceremony  would 
be  performed  by  Mrs.  Piper  (Mrs.  Drain-Piper  as  I 
playfully  term  her)  with  her  French  double  there  — 
Dr.  Phinuit  (who  talks  such  bad  French)  to  assist,  and 
a  "  Planchette  "  as  Maid  of  Honor. 

As  ever  your 

"NANCY." 

To  MRS.  EGBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Saturday,  October  14th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Ethel  will  tell  you  that  barring  a  strong  smell  of  new 
paint  and  varnish  and  some  little  natural  confusion  we 
are  quite  comfortably  settled  at  home  again,  tho'  the  city 
seems  close  and  dingy  after  Manchester  and  we  sorely 
miss  the  ocean  and  our  view  of  sunset  and  changing 
trees.  What  a  number  of  things  happen  in  town  —  be- 
tween yesterday's  stifling  heat  and  today's  sirocco  we 


Aet.  24  61 

indulged  in  a  little  amateur  garotting  or  burglary  up 
the  street  last  night.  John  has  just  sallied  out  to  dis- 
cover what  it  was  —  but  it  really  was  quite  awful  to 
have  the  house  all  roused  last  night  by  shrieks  and  cries 
for  help  and  police  —  to  hear  men  assembling  and  run- 
ning to  Charles  Street  and  others  stopping  before  Dr. 
Nichols'  house  which  was  all  lighted  up.  Nathalie  thinks 
it  may  have  been  only  some  drunken  woman  who  may 
have  got  hurt  in  some  way  —  and  I  didn't  mean  to  make 
a  short  story  so  long! 

Paulina's  letter  told  you  how  much  better  I  was  and 
Dr.  Mason,  who  came  again  last  night,  says  after  a  day 
or  two  I  may  try  sitting  up  for  a  little  while  and  hopes 
that  by  Thanksgiving  or  Christmas  if  I  have  no  relapse 
I  may  get  downstairs  again  —  I  think  myself  that  I  shall 
do  so  much  sooner. 

I  am  glad  on  mamma's  account  that  we  are  at  home 
again.  Those  six  weeks  when  I  was  so  very  ill,  wore  on 
her  fearfully  and  she  lost  seven  pounds  and  still  looks 
poorly,  tho'  she  has  been  getting  better  since  I  have 
and  is  much  cheered  at  having  the  dreaded  move  so 
triumphantly  over. 

Ethel  held  out  hopes  of  your  coming  to  see  us  soon 
but  I  wanted  to  write  you  myself  and  today  especially. 
It  was  on  the  14th,  wasn't  it,  two  years  ago,  that  Mr. 
Brooks  was  consecrated?  Somehow  the  anniversaries, 
when  one  can  think  just  of  him,  are  easier  to  bear  than 
the  other  days. 

Thank  you  for  the  flowers  you  sent  me.  I  knew  you 
would  understand  what  this  return  was  to  us.  Paulina 
and  I  scarcely  dared  think  of  it.  It  was  like  facing  the 
bitterness  of  the  first  grief  —  only  weakened  by  all  these 
months  of  loneliness  and  need,  and  with  less  of  that 


62  1893 

sense  of  exaltation  for  his  sake  that  one  had  while  his 
words  and  the  touch  of  his  hand  were  still  so  fresh. 
Sometimes  the  dark  waters  seem  to  close  over  one's  head 
and  one's  very  soul  seems  to  faint  within  one  at  thought 
of  the  dark  winter  that  is  coming,  but  it  seems  faithless 
to  be  discouraged.  We  need  only  take  one  day  at  a 
time — and  I  didn't  mean  to  write  you  such  a  dreary 
letter  and  I  know  how  much  harder  it  is  for  you,  dear 
Mrs.  Paine,  who  knew  him  so  much  better  and  so  much 
longer  and  have  to  face  the  world  and  the  church  and 
the  streets  which  seem  so  empty  now. 

Ever  most  affectionately, 
ALICE. 


To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Tuesday,  October  17th. 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  directed  this  envelope  to  you  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling—  first  calling  in  two  domestic  specialists  in  the 
matter  of  hand-writing  to  help  me  decipher  and  com- 
pare the  two  addresses  that  you  sent  me,  but  except 
that  the  Miss  Danforth  of  the  first  had  become  "  Mrs." 
and  a  "  W"  now  preceded  the  nameless  avenue,  we  none 
of  us  could  make  very  much  of  either.  This  is  rather 
odd  too  for  I  can  read  the  rest  of  your  letters,  but  when 
I  come  to  the  address  —  whether  because  it  is  so  arbi- 
trary a  thing  or  so  vital  —  suddenly  all  my  intuitive 
genius  fails  me.  The  moral  of  which  seems  to  be  that 
we  shall  have  to  resort  to  the  simple  expedient  of  print. 

After  which  biting  prelude,  I  will  begin  at  the  begin- 


Aet.  24  63 

ning  which  I  believe  in  the  matter  of  correspondence  is 
supposed  to  be  the  writer  herself. 

We  are  back  in  town,  you  see,  having  come  up  on 
Wednesday  last  and  the  much-dreaded  move  was  accom- 
plished by  me  unexpectedly  well.  For  six  weeks,  you 
see,  I  had  only  been  two  or  three  times  even  as  far  as 
from  my  bed  to  my  sofa,  so  that  the  journey  was  quite 
an  undertaking.  The  three  doctors  all  thought  it  better 
for  me  to  drive  up  than  to  have  so  many  changes,  espe- 
cially as  I  dreaded  being  lifted  in  and  out  of  the  train 
and  having  to  submit  to  be  so  apparently  feeble  for  all 
the  world  to  see.  So  that  dear  Mr.  Higginson  lent  us 
two  of  his  fleet  steeds  and  a  carriage  where  I  could  lie 
down  if  necessary,  and  planned  every  inch  of  the  way 
so  that  we  avoided  all  the  big  towns  —  the  cobble-stones 
and  most  of  the  electric  cars  and  came  into  Boston  very 
comfortably  over  Harvard  Bridge.  Paulina  came  with 
me  and  we  really  enjoyed  ourselves  and  the  perfectly 
lovely  day,  and  were  glad  to  have  a  last  look  at  the  ocean 
and  the  marshes  and  the  changing  trees  which  we  felt 
so  badly  to  leave  so  soon.  Dickson  was  waiting  to  carry 
me  upstairs  and  my  room  was  so  full  of  flowers  and 
fruit  and  notes  and  what-not,  and  so  many  people  had 

been  to  enquire  that  I  felt  a  humbug  or 's  ' '  malade 

imaginaire  "  —  I  have  kept  pretty  well  too  so  that  Dr. 
Mason  lets  me  sit  up  a  little  every  day  and  hopes  if  I 
have  no  bad  turn  to  get  me  downstairs  by  "Thanks- 
giving." I  think  myself  I  shall  be  down  much  sooner. 
You  must  write  when  you  have  time  and  tell  me  about 
your  work  and  whether  your  courage  is  good  —  but  I 
know  it  must  be  —  and  whether  you  have  any  interest- 
ing girls  to  teach. 


64  1893 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Monday  the  23rd. 
My  dearest  Gertrude, 

I  can't  let  today  pass  without  writing  you  if  only  a 
word  or  two.  The  twenty-third  and  the  twenty-sixth 
of  every  month  seem  to  shine  out  with  a  peculiar  sacred- 
ness  and  are  less  sad  than  the  other  days  to  me!  They 
seem  to  be  so  full  of  him  that  one  can't  be  anything  but 
hopeful  and  try  to  take  up  the  burden  of  life  again  with 
new  courage — not  as  ' '  those  who  sorrow  without  hope; " 
for  "  we  are  not  of  the  night  nor  of  darkness  "  but  are 
"  the  children  of  the  light  and  of  the  day." 

It  doesn't  seem  natural  to  have  the  sky  so  dark  nor 
to  hear  the  rain  dripping  on  to  the  roofs,  instead  of  hav- 
ing the  birds  and  the  sunshine,  but  we  have  just  been 
brightened  by  a  little  call  from  Mrs.  Paine,  who  brought 
some  beautiful  violets  which  I  was  glad  to  have  for  the 
vase  before  my  picture. 

The  next  time  you  come  I  must  read  you  some  bits 
out  of  Mrs.  Beaumont's  last  letter  to  me  after  she  had 
heard  how  poorly  I  was.  It  is  so  beautiful  and  so  like 
her.  We  hope  to  hear  again  before  very  long. 

I  trust  that  Mrs.  Brooks  is  a  little  better  notwith- 
standing the  oppressive  weather  and  all  the  things  that 
must  be  done  with  so  heavy  a  heart.  Paulina  wants 
me  to  send  you  a  great  deal  of  love  and  she  is  hoping  to 
get  down  to  see  you  very  soon,  tho'  this  week  is  appall- 
ingly busy  as  she  looks  ahead  at  all  her  engagements  — 
headed  by  the  dentist's. 

My  weeks  are  never  busy  and  I  am  always  "at  home," 
so  when  you  call  and  as  often  as  you  can  you  must  come 


Aet.  24  65 

and  listen  while  I  talk  —  that's  what  a  call  on  me  means, 
I  believe,  insulting  friends  have  remarked. 

Affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Tuesday  Morning  [October  24]. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  have  a  feeling  that  this  can't  go  on  and  that  if  you 
don't  appear,  I  shall  have  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
you  thro'  the  medium  of  the  penny  post.  What  day 
was  it  you  were  here?  At  all  events,  it  seems  a  long 
time  ago  and  I  had  hopes  you  would  turn  up  yesterday 
from  a  kind  of  instinct  as  it  was  a  Monday,  or  rather  I 
had  hopes  till  I  saw  what  a  disconsolate,  dreary  day  it 
was  going  to  be! 

I  was  just  ill  enough  Sunday  night  and  yesterday  to 
come  up  beautifully  today  on  the  system  of  the  well- 
bucket,  which  plays  a  prominent  part  among  the  doc- 
tor's similes  —  and  I  shall  be  sitting  up  in  a  little  while 
clothed  and  in  my  right  mind,  as  I  did  last  Thursday 
most  triumphantly  for  quite  two  hours!  It  was  an  idea 
of  my  own  to  get  me  in  good  training  for  going  down- 
stairs when  the  time  comes.  It  might  be  pretty  soon  if 
I  would  let  myself  to  be  carried  up  and  downstairs,  but 
I  have  rather  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  leaving  this  haven 
quite  yet.  I  feel  as  if  I  wanted  a  little  time  to  gather 
my  courage  before  facing  the  same  old  life  which  is  so 
different!  Yesterday  was  the  twenty- third,  and  it  came 
on  Monday  as  it  did  that  dark  morning  nine  months  ago, 
when  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  smaller  griefs  and  burdens 
were  quite  swallowed  up  in  that  great  one,  and  as  if  we 


66  1893 

could  never  be  anything  but  pure  and  unselfish  and 
brave  till  one  went  to  join  him!  The  day  when  it 
comes  back  always  seems  to  help  me  to  make  a  new 
start.  Have  you  read  "Whole  Views  of  Life  "  in  the 
new  volume  of  sermons?  It  is  perfectly  beautiful. 

Yours  most  lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

BOSTON, 

Friday,  October  27th. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

By  this  time  of  course  you  have  assumed  the  conven- 
tional spread-eagle  attitude  before  the  peristyle!  and 
with  patriotic  pride  sniffed  the  tainted  air  of  the  ma- 
chinery building.  We  were  awfully  glad  to  hear  you 
were  going  to  see  it  all,  tho'  you  did  have  to  leave  New 
York  and  your  friends  and  your  surprising  racketings 
there.  It  will  at  least  break  your  journey  west  and 
enable  you  to  converse  intelligently  with  your  com- 
patriots for  the  next  few  years  to  come!  Did  we  tell 
you  what  Mrs.  Whitman  said  of  the  Art  Building?  that 
it  was  like  a  beautiful  woman  and  then  when  you 
thought  of  the  wings  having  been  added  it  was  like  a 
beautiful  woman  opening  her  arms!  Isn't  that  cunning 
and  Whitmanesque? 

And  now  to  business!  I  hope  you  won't  think  my 
silence  and  my  snippety  notes  by  proxy  is  a  sample  of 
the  way  I  am  going  to  act  this  winter  because  they  are 
not  at  all.  I  knew  how  busy  you  were  and  the  times 
when  I  could  have  caught  you  on  the  wing,  so  to  speak, 


Aet.  24  67 

the  fates  were  agin  me.  People  dropped  in  to  see  me 
and  there  were  notes  to  write  and  more  housekeeping 
problems  than  usual  with  moving  and  a  new  Swede  in 
the  kitchen,  who  doesn't  understand  "  English  as  she  is 
spoke  "  —  used  Soy  in  her  soups  —  and  couldn't  find  the 
dark  nooks  where  we  keep  our  vegetables  "and  ga! 
ga! "  said  the  Grey  Goose  —  haven't  you  kept  house 
yourself?  Then  this  week  I  have  been  some  feeble 
after  having  my  hair  washed,  but  had  planned  Saturday 
morning  to  get  my  strength  and  write  to  my  Boosie  and 
generally  keep  sacred,  when  last  night  Dr.  Mason  selects 
that  very  particular  time  for  a  long  seance  with  him  and 
his  stethoscope.  Having  it  put  on  for  a  few  minutes  I 
don't  mind  at  all,  but  when  I  have  to  sit  up  and  have 
people  knock  and  listen  at  my  left  shoulder  and  take 
long  breaths  and  sing  high  C,  I  am  pretty  well  tired  out. 
He  is  very  much  encouraged  about  me,  chiefly  on  account 
of  the  marvellous  vigor  I  show  in  coming  up  after  those 
bad  ' '  leaking  spells, "  and  hopes  that  by  Christmas  I 
will  be  able  to  get  downstairs  again  on  my  own  legs  — 
even  tho'  I  utterly  refuse  to  even  think  of  his  pet  scheme 
of  a  nurse  to  bully  me  days  and  sit  up  with  me  nights, 
to  prevent  my  doing  anything  when  I  want  to  and  to 
insist  on  my  doing  things  when  I  don't !  Ha!  ha!  do 
they  think  to  bind  this  child  of  impulse  —  not  so.  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  know  just  what  he  says  ails  me 
once  for  all  —  of  course  prefacing  our  remarks  with  the 
well-known  truth,  that  people  with  damaged  vitals  usu- 
ally get  along  much  better  and  stick  it  out  longer  than 
their,  sounder  and  less  fortunate  neighbors.  The  heart 
appears  in  the  first  place  to  be  of  a  weak  and  palpitating 
order  with  an  awkward  inclination  to  slow  up  and  stop 
at  any  ordinary  sign  of  fatigue  in  its  owner  —  it  also  in- 


68  1893 

dulges  at  times  in  attacks  of  bad  valvular  affection,  at 
which  times  it  becomes  dangerous  to  move.  The  con- 
stant pain  is  less  serious,  being  neuralgic  affection  of 
the  nerves  about  the  heart,  caused  by  the  same  inability 
of  the  heart  to  do  its  work,  and  that  produces  the  ' '  an- 
gina pectoris  "  which  in  all  medical  propriety  I  have  no 
business  to  have  at  my  age  and  there's  an  end  of  these 
horrid  pathological  details  once  and  forever !  I  am  really 
so  much  better  that  I  scarcely  know  myself  —  have  been 
dressed  twice  and  see  no  reason  why  I  shan't  be  able  to 
resume  my  old  manners  of  existence  shortly  —  coming 
down  at  tea  time  and  seeing  one  or  two  best  friends  a 
day.  As  for  my  figurative  heart — the  heart  with  which 
I  love  my  Boosie  —  that  beats  regular  and  strong  but 
wouldn't  Hursley  Vicarage  dub  this  "coarse"?  Dear 
Aunt  Charlotte,  I  "muse"  with  her  constantly  and  quite 
resented  the  "Spectator's"  remarking  that  Seldon's  sen- 
sible remarks  on  tithes  would  do  good  to  certain  fanati- 
cal talkers  on  that  subject.  It  is  from  the  "  Spectator  " 
you  know  that  I  pick  up  little  scraps  of  information  on 
subjects  this  side  the  flood;  and  in  it  we  saw  the  other 
day,  that  they  thought  they  had  discovered  (from  a 
cipher  letter  of  Louis  XIV)  that  Gen.  Bourlande  was 
' '  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  "  and  not  the  ' '  Author  of 
the  Junius  Letters  "  as  I  had  fondly  conceived  on  the 
general  principle  that  one  enigma  cancels  another. 


By  the  way  I  forgot  to  ask  you  apropos  of  the  ' '  Spec- 
tator "  whether  "  Punch  "  would  be  any  solace  and  if  I 
should  order  it  for  you  say  as  a  Christmas  Gift?  Tell 
me  frankly,  won't  you?  The  idea  just  occurred  to  me 
that  tho'  rather  drivelling,  the  political  pictures  are  good 


Aet.  24  69 

and  it  comes  often  and  regular  and  can  be  looked  at  or 
not  as  one's  humor  suits. 

What  a  long  letter  and  all  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you 
fond  and  think  of  you  always 

Your 

"  NANNY." 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

Thursday,  November  2nd. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

Mrs.  Dexter  and  Anna  Amory  took  a  cup  of  tea  with 
me  Tuesday  and  yesterday  Elinor  and  then  Mrs.  Whit- 
man who  was  coming  as  usual.  Among  other  things 
she  told  us  that  Burne- Jones'  "  Love  Among  the  Ruins" 
had  been  purchased  by  some  one  who,  as  she  said,  "loved 
it  fond"  and  paid  highly,  and  had  then  with  B.J.'s  per- 
mission sent  it  to  some  firm  in  Paris  to  be  engraved. 
They  took  it  for  one  of  the  modern  oils  and  applied 
white  of  egg  which  neither  hurts  an  oil  "  nor  yet  the 
hen  "  when  lo,  and  behold,  the  whole  picture  disappeared 
in  a  smutch  before  their  eyes;  "  and  so,"  said  Mrs.  Whit- 
man, ' '  there  is  no  more  a  Love  among  the  Euins."  ' '  In 
fact,"  said  Nanny,  "it  has  become  a  mariage  de  conve- 
nance."  Speaking  of  the  Gallic  tongue,  did  I  tell  you 
what  a  blow  my  vanity  had  received?  After  writing 
half  a  dozen  letters  this  year  and  more,  to  Madame 
Couder  of  which  the  stock  in  trade  might  have  been 
said  to  have  been  Mademoiselle  Constance  and  M.  Au- 
guste  Gardner,  both  of  whom  she  knew  —  indeed  she 
used  to  speak  of  him  as  "  un  blond  Americain  "  rather 


70  1893 

to  my  patriotic  disgust  —  Well,  having  retailed  their 
"  ndces,"  their  winter  in  "  La  belle  France,"  their  house 
in  Hamilton,  "  quelques  lieux  de  Manchester,"  imagine 
my  sensations  when  in  her  last  letter,  she  ingenuously 
asked  if  Mademoiselle  Constance  were  not  yet  married! 
I  felt  like  the  man  who  said,  "but  we  mustn't  quote 
before  so  accomplished  a  Latin  scholar  as  Sir  Richard 
Bethel,"  at  which  Bethel  looked  up  quickly  and  re- 
marked, "I  thought  my  honorable  friend  was  quoting 
from  some  Welsh  author." 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Whitman  told  us  rather  a  cunning 
tale  apropos  of  a  suburban  bag  she  carried,  and  in  return 
for  "I  go  to  Salem  evenings"  —  but  perhaps  you  have 
heard  it?  She  said  to  her  butcher,  "Crawford,  where 
do  you  live,"  to  which  Crawford  replied,  "I  live  in 
Brighton  but  I  have  my  social  privileges  in  Newton  "  ! ! ! 
Speaking  of  the  suburbs,  Dickson,  who  feels  that  three 
babies  are  almost  too  much  of  an  "impogition,"  not  "on 
the  nuss  "  but  Mrs.  Walcott,  is  thinking  of  setting  up 
his  own  vine  and  fig-tree  in  Milton  or  elsewhere  in  the 
spring.  I  suggested  that  he  might  call  his  new  home 
" The  Warren  "  and  rechange  his  name  into  "Mr.  Cony- 
Smith,"  an  idea  just  abusive  enough  to  delight  him  be- 
yond measure.  I  have  now  told  you  about  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family  except  the  most  energetic,  the  most 
useful  and  the  most  important.  She  and  "Hamlet" 
are  at  present  prancing  about  the  town  doing  the  mar- 
keting, the  shopping  and  making  the  necessary  calls. 
Not  satisfied  with  her  duties  as  nurse,  keeper,  upper 
housemaid  and  menagerie  tender,  she  has  started  to  hem- 
stitch a  handkerchief  for  Mr.  Higginson's  birthday  on 
the  18th,  and  to  knit  him  a  pair  of  silk  socks  for  Christ- 
mas, so  that  we  tell  her  she  varies  between  ' '  seamstresses 


Aet.  25  Tl 

arm  "  and  "knitter's  elbow  "  and  wears  always  a  kind  of 
feverish  "  work  while  it  is  called  a  week-day  for  Sunday 
cometh  "  expression  which  pains  her  jealous  and  exact- 
ing family.  She  is  at  present  maliciously  amused  by 
the  fact  that  since  "Repeal"  stocks  have  gone  down. 
As  for  me  I  am  like  John  Ruskin,  who  during  the  Gor- 
don excitement  mildly  pricked  up  his  ears  and  inquired 
"  Who  is  the  Soudan?  "  All  this  sounds  very  heartless 
and  flippant,  when  I  am  really  most  anxious  to  hear  how 
you  got  thro'  the  journey  and  how  you  were  at  Chicago 
—  Write  when  you  are  rested  and  not  before.  I  am 
waiting  till  you  have  had  time  to  settle  a  little  before 
sending  you  the  "Sermons"  and  Mrs.  Foster  a  photo- 
graph of  Mr.  Brooks's  study  which  she  said  she  would 
like.  Kingsley  still  tarries.  I  don't  see  why.  Keep  a 
stout  heart,  dear  old  girl,  and  don't  forget 

Your  most  loving 

"NANCY." 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Begun  Friday,  November  10th. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

"  Birthdays?  yes  in  a  general  way  for  the  most  if  not 
for  the  best  of  men  "  and  Martin  Luther,  Shelley  and 
I  chose  this  rather  grim  date  for  putting  in  an  appear- 
ance on  this  troublous  globe  —  Figurez  vous  I  am  abso- 
lutely twenty  five  years  old  and  I  naturally  turn  to  my 
Aunt  Boosie  for  sympathy,  knowing  that  she  too  has 
touched  that  high  water  mark  and  survived  it.  You 
will  be  twenty  six  on  January  17th  is  it?  (My  mind  is 
going,  you  see)  but  twenty  six  is  mere  child's  play  com- 
pared to  quarter  of  a  century!  Perhaps  that  is  why  I 


72  1893 

feel  so  like  ' '  She  "  this  morning  and  have  risen  haggard 
and  whitehaired  from  my  couch.  As  I  told  mamma 
and  Paulina  this  morning  —  after  a  heavy  dose  of  brandy 
—  anybody  could  wish  me  a  happy  return  of  the  day 
but  not  of  the  night.  One  must  draw  the  line  some- 
where and  after  taking  a  week  to  recover  from  a  simi- 
lar vigil  Thursday  last,  to  have  another  night  just  like 
it  without  rhyme  or  reason  revolts  my  high  spirit.  I 
ought  not  to  be  writing  you  now,  but  I  wanted  just  to 
tell  you  how  rejoiced  I  was  to  get  your  Colorado  note 
and  to  think  of  you  as  not  safely  at  your  journey's  end 
(and  I  shan't  be  quite  comfortable  till  you  are)  but 
nearing  it.  I  have  been  trying  to  fancy  you  this  week 
as  settling  in  and  resting  and  with  homeward  turning 
thoughts — the  out  journey  over.  Dear  Bessie,  I  do  love 
you  so  and  if  we  are  called  on  to  go  thro'  life  with  the 
burden  of  "as  dying  and  behold  we  live,"  perhaps  we 
may  earlier  come  to  understand  the  ' '  sorrowful  yet 
always  rejoicing,  the  having  nothing  and  yet  possessing 
all  things."  I  wanted  to  put  the  verse  in  Romans  about 
"tribulation  worketh  patience  and  patience  experience 
and  experience  hope  "  under  your  name  in  the  last  vol- 
ume of  Sermons,  only  I  felt  that  you  knew  all  that  so 
much  better  than  I  and  what  was  only  vague  sentiment 
with  me  was  stern  reality  to  you!  By  the  way,  I  hope 
the  Sermons  reached  you  safely?  I  sent  them  and  the 
photograph  Monday,  but  to  my  Cranfordian  and  untrav- 
elled  mind,  addressing  a  helpless  parcel  to  so  far  away 
seems  like  casting  one's  bread  upon  the  waters  —  only 

more  so  — 

Nov.  llth. 

Just  about  at  the  end  of  the  last  page  I  gave  up  the 
struggle  —  had  a  bad  turn  or  so  and  sent  for  the  Doctor 


Aet.  25  73 

who  arrived  on  his  pet  hobby  (the  idea  of  a  night-nurse), 
gave  me  something  powerful  to  take  every  two  hours, 
and  is  going  to  look  in  early  this  morning,  when  he  will 
not  find  the  bird,  if  not  exactly  flown,  still  comfortably 
"  as  usual."  —  I  wish  you  had  seen  the  flowers  I  got  yes- 
terday! beginning  with  bouquets  from  Ethel  and  from 
Ellen  Hooper  and  ending  up  with  a  great  box  from  Con- 
stance— full  of  violets  and  lilies-of -the- valley  and  maiden 
hair  —  a  box  which  came  too  late  to  be  opened.  There 
are  sixteen  vases  full  of  them,  and  all  the  tables  in  this 
part  of  the  house  have  had  to  be  put  in  requisition  to 
stand  them  on  —  while  your  photograph  looks  down  at 
me  from  the  mantel-piece  over  a  perfect  bed  of  migno- 
nette and  pinks.  This  is  what  comes  of  trying  to  keep 
one's  birthday  buried  in  oblivion  —  a  prophetic  instinct 
seems  to  have  stirred  the  community  including  Anna 
Amory  and  Pauline  Bancroft.  —  Mrs.  Dexter  had  no 
idea  of  its  being  my  birthday,  but  appeared  in  the  after- 
noon with  a  sweet  table-cover  for  me  and  a  box  of  choco- 
lates from  Mr.  Dexter  and  a  little  later  came  Mrs.  Whit- 
man, equally  ignorant,  but  bearing  a  floral  tribute  or 
to  quote  the  mysterious  stucco  motto  above  her  door 
11  Lilia  manibus  plenis"  — 

Speaking  of  letters,  your  sprightly  epistle  from  Chi- 
cago amused  me  much!  Besides  riding  on  Camels,  at- 
tending Turkish  improprieties  and  gathering  in  witty 
and  profane  anecdotes,  did  you  go  to  see  Buffalo  Bill  and 
Hagenbeck,  tamer  of  beasts?  The  latter  by  the  way  (so 
Dr.  Eliot  told  Mrs.  Higginson)  is  a  very  pleasant  nice 
young  fellow,  but  a  little  inclined  to  drink  more  than  is 
good  for  him  ("the  fault  of  many  a  good  man,  Miss 
Alice,"  as  our  old  Julia  says)  but  a  fault  which  Mrs. 


74  1893 

Hagenbeck  does  not  apparently  pardon  so  easily.  Being 
very  much  intoxicated  one  evening,  he  preferred  reeling 
down  to  sleep  among  his  animals  to  facing  his  wife,  who 
became  anxious  toward  morning  —  went  out  to  look  him 
up  and  finally  found  him  in  the  "larger  cat"  cage  asleep 
with  his  body  against  a  lion  and  his  feet  on  the  trained 
tiger  — when  she  called  out  to  him  bitterly  from  between 
the  bars  "  You  coward!  "  —  One,  I  should  judge,  of  the 
class  called  moral! 

We  were  nicely  beaten  at  the  polls  Tuesday  weren't 
we?  Mr.  John  Russell  said  he  expected  a  defeat  but 
not  an  avalanche,  but  we  lay  it  to  the  fact  that  he  didn't 
write  a  companion  letter  to  Mr.  Greenhalge's  (did  you 
see  it  "  I  have  always  worked  for  my  bread  —  I  have 
never  corrupted  a  voter  or  travelled  in  Europe "  and 
that  style  of  thing)  in  which  he  could  have  said  "  These 
whiskers  are  dyed  with  home  dyes  —  no  Tyrean  purple 
etc."  but  perhaps  you  don't  know  that  delightful  man 
and  have  never  cast  a  suspicious  eye  upon  those  whis- 
kers. So  you  scorn  the  idea  of  ' '  Punch  "  ?  I  shall  have 
to  fall  back  on  Aunt  Charlotte's  "Monthly  Packet." 
By  the  way  wasn't  it  a  little  coarse  of  the  Kebles  to 
drive  "a  flea-bitten  grey,"  even  tho'  he  was  coyly  if 
vaguely  called  "Strawberry" —  This  whole  anecdote 
might  —  I  don't  say  would  —  but  might  be  called  point- 
less in  another,  which  reminds  me  of  a  remark  of  Arch- 
bishop Whately's  I  saw  the  other  day  which  struck 
me  as  a  delightful  description  of  random  talkers  that 
"They  aim  at  nothing  and  they  hit  it."  There's  a  "Life 
of  Pusey"  out  but  I'm  not  as  Tractarian  as  you  are  and 
so  shan't  read  it,  but  the  "  Life  of  Stanley  "  I  shall,  tho' 
I  don't  know  how  good  it  is  going  to  be.  I  remember 


Aet.  25  75 

Mr.  Brooks's  telling  us  how  it  had  been  given  first  to 
one  person  to  write  and  then  to  another,  and  finally  the 
last  one  had  written  so  fully  that  at  the  end  of  the  first 
folio  he  had  got  the  Dean  up  to  a  boy  of  twelve  or 
so,  when  the  publishers  proposed  that  there  should  be 
two  distinct  works  the  "Life  of  Dean  Stanley"  and 
the  "  Boyhood  of  Dean  Stanley." 

His  life  of  Arnold  is  fine,  isn't  it?  and  do  you  wonder 
that  Arnold  and  Keble  looked  at  things  from  rather  dif- 
ferent points  of  view?  Its  a  pity  all  those  dear  men 
spent  so  much  time  bickering  among  one  another,  isn't 
it?  When  you  do  get  Kingsley — (if  ever)  —  you  will 
see  the  truth  in  that  man's  remark  that  Kingsley  spent 
his  life  in  a  strange  crusade  against  celibacy  —  a  danger 
which  to  others  did  not  seem  imminent  as  far  as  the 
ordinary  Englishman  was  concerned.  Have  you  seen 
"Lowell's  Letters"  edited  by  your  friend  Mr.  Norton? 
because  do  try  to  get  them  if  you  haven't.  They  are 
perfectly  delightful  and  as  bright  and  charming  as 
possible. 

There,  do  you  think  I  could  with  honesty  tell  my 
family  I  had  enclosed  a  handkerchief  to  you  to  account 
for  the  fatness  of  this  letter?  At  all  events  you  are 
supplied  with  light  literature  (?)  for  some  time  to  come! 

Your  loving 

SNAP. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Saturday  Eve. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

We  did  not  hear  till  noon  today  of  Ted  Cabot's  death 
which  was  weighing  on  your  heart  perhaps  when  you 


76  1893 

were  here  yesterday?  He  had  fought  a  good  fight  and 
it  was  a  merciful  release,  of  course,  after  a  long  captiv- 
ity; but  however  much  expected  and  longed-for  by  the 
watchers,  death  always  comes  like  a  shock  somehow  — 
a  solemn  fresh  thing  out  of  the  darkness  and  mystery 
with  the  silence  after  it  which  says  more  than  words  — 
It  must  touch  you  nearly  thro'  his  mother  —  It  will 
touch  a  great  many  I  know  for  every  one  liked  him  and 
respected  him  that  knew  him  at  all.  —  Little  as  I  knew 
him,  I  have  felt  all  day  that  sense  of  having  lost  another 
link  that  bound  my  present  to  my  past. 

Mamma  is  mending  rapidly  and  hopes  to  be  down- 
stairs tomorrow  and  I  am  almost  comfortable  "as 
usual"  again,  tho'  Dr.  Mason  assures  me  cheerfully 
that  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  think.  The  next  best  thing 
however  to  being  better  is  to  feel  so! 

I  didn't  thank  you  half  enough  for  the  table-cover 
which  makes  my  whole  room  a  different  place  and 
please  give  my  thanks  and  the  whole  family's  to  Mr. 
Dexter  for  the  candy. 

Always  your  affectionate 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Wednesday  Evening. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

I  was  much  relieved  to  hear  from  you  this  morning,  as 
I  had  begun  to  fear  you  might  not  be  well  and  Paulina 
had  her  hands  so  full  —  with  mamma  still  upstairs  and 
me  so  ill  —  that  she  hasn't  been  able  to  get  down  to  in- 
quire about  you  all.  Now  however  she  hopes  to  do  so 


Aet.  25  77 

soon,  as  I  am  getting  better  of  the  last  bad  turn  and 
mamma  is  up  and  out  —  really  rested  we  hope  by  her 
fortnight  of  rest  and  novel  reading.  There  is  always 
some  insuperable  obstacle  when  we  don't  some  of  us 
come  down,  you  may  be  sure,  for  we  think  of  you  con- 
stantly with  aching  hearts.  I  know  what  you  mean 
about  dreading  the  anniversaries  which  come  so  thick 
and  fast  upon  one  now,  but  somehow  as  they  come  don't 
you  find  them  so  full  of  him  that  they  are  helps  some- 
how—  like  shining  steps  leading  up  thro'  the  darkness. 
And  when  one's  mind  is  full  of  one  subject,  even  tho'  it 
is  an  overwhelming  grief,  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  live 
in  the  old  memories  again.  I  was  looking  at  a  little 
memorandum  book  of  mine  and  saw  that  a  year  ago 
yesterday  Mr.  Brooks  dined  here  with  us  at  a  "young 
dinner  "  (I  remember  how  he  would  set  the  earliest  date 
and  kept  asking  if  the  young  people  wouldn't  be  disap- 
pointed to  see  him)  and  I  had  put  down  too  how  he 
stayed  till  twenty  minutes  past  eleven,  long  after  every 
one  else  had  gone.  It  all  came  back  so  clearly  and  other 
times  like  it  —  times  when  we  got  up  out  of  bed  and 
dressed  again  to  see  him. 

It  all  makes  up  so  much  of  one's  life  that  it  can't  be 
merely  the  past  but  has  grown  into  one's  soul  of  souls. 

Miss  Lowell  was  here  this  morning  and  tells  me  that 
the  "Letters"  are  out  today.  Mamma  ordered  them 
for  me  and  I  am  looking  forward  to  them  so  much! 
She  told  me  too  that  your  sister  Susie  had  been  quite 
ill  with  her  share  of  the  family  cold  but  that  she  was 
better  again  and  out.  Do  take  care  of  yours,  won't 
you? 

Always  your  most  affectionate 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


78  1893 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 
Monday  Morning,  Nov.  20. 
My  dearest  Bessie, 

Your  letter  has  just  this  moment  come,  and  imagine 
my  delight  at  hearing  from  you  at  last,  mingled  with 
my  speechless  fury  when  I  learnt  that  you  hadn't  got 
the  lengthy  epistle  I  wrote  November  2nd,  timing  it,  as 
I  thought,  so  that  it  would  reach  Santa  Barbara  before 
you  did  and  serve  if  not  for  a  welcome,  at  least  as  a 
proof  that  I  was  thinking  of  you.  Paulina  who  read 
your  letter  was  overcome  with  guilty  consciousness, 
which  she  tried  in  vain  to  conceal  with  a  laugh  —  as 
she  stamps  the  letters  downstairs  before  carrying  them 
out  to  the  mail  and,  tho'  she  can't  remember  this  par- 
ticular one,  thinks  it  probable  that  the  stamp  may  have 
been  put  on  hastily  enough  to  glide  off.  So  much  for 
righteous  indignation! — but  a  kept  over  letter  is  like 
champagne  opened  the  night  before  last.  I  hope  the 
others  will  go  straighter.  I  wrote  you  again  on  the 
llth  (I  am  ashamed  to  think  of  the  fatness  of  those  last 
ones  —  two  stamps  apiece)  and  again  on  the  18th  —  this 
very  Saturday  —  so  I  have  no  business  to  be  writing 
now. 

Mrs.  Whitman  was  here  yesterday  and  again  alluded 
to  the  "unicorn"  which  this  time  predominated  over 
the  lion  in  the  English  character.  I  had  before,  by  com- 
parative philology,  decided  that  in  her  vocabulary  it 
stood  for  America,  but  now  it  comes  out  in  new  colors 
as  a  kind  of  ' '  dual  personality. "  —  She  was  more  charm- 
ing than  ever  yesterday,  if  possible,  and  I  am  getting  so 


Aet.  25  79 

that  I  get  quite  gloomy  and  distrait  when  I  don't  see 
her  for  four  or  five  days.  I  begin  to  think  it  common- 
place not  to  have  a  language  of  one's  own  too,  and 
a  singular  cut  to  one's  clothes,  and  a  green  cape  and 
pointed  hat  which  makes  one  look  as  if  "  one's  broom- 
stick waited"  in  the  vestibule.  Constance  says  Mrs. 
Palfrey  met  Mrs.  Whitman  in  a  shop  in  Salem  where 
they  sold  turned-wooden  things  and  Mrs.  Whitman 
came  up  to  her  with  a  small  common  or  garden  wooden 
box  remarking,  ' '  A  box  like  this  makes  me  cry  like  a 
child — "  It  sounded  eminently  probable! 

I  can't  tell  you  how  nice  it  is  to  think  of  you  so  com- 
fortably and  pleasantly  situated  —  live-stock  and  palm 
trees  included,  and  if  you  don't  hear  from  me  at  least 
every  ten  days  blame  the  mail,  the  postman,  the  execu- 
tive, anything  but 

Your  devoted  and  affectionate 

ALICIA. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

[Nov.  21.] 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

My  dear  book  of  letters  has  just  come,  and  when  I 
opened  it  at  random,  it  was  at  the  description  of  that 
visit  to  Tennyson  which  recalled  the  time  when  he  told 
me  about  it  and  the  time  too  last  spring  when  Paulina 
and  I  came  to  get  comfort  and  sympathy  from  you  and 
Mrs.  Brooks  and  you  read  that  letter  to  us!  So  much 
happiness  as  you  had  in  being  what  you  were  to  him 
can  never  be  a  past  happiness  but  always  a  present  one 
—  an  afterglow  to  last  you  and  brighten  all  life  for  you. 
None  of  us  who  knew  him  ever  so  little,  it  seems  to  me, 
could  have  a  sad  life.  It  was,  as  Mr.  Harry  Lee  told 


80  1893 

mamma,  not  necessary  that  Mr.  Brooks  should  talk  of 
Heaven.  No  one  who  had  even  seen  him  could  doubt 
it.— 

I  always  feel  after  you  leave  me  as  if  I  had  not  begun 
to  say  half  of  what  I  wanted  to. 

Don't  answer  this,  dear  Gertrude.     It  is  only  to  say 

goodnight  and  God  bless  you. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 
Tuesday  Evening. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[Nov.  23.] 

Thursday  Morning. 
My  own  dearest  Ethel, 

I  shan't  tell  you  how  humiliated  I  was  by  your  sweet 
letter,  but  take  it  for  granted  —  as  you  suggest  —  that 
our  brutal  frankness  about  other  people's  social  duties  — 
a  subject  on  which  we  are  totally  ignorant  of  course  — 
was  really  a  mark  of  Christian  kindness,  tho'  at  first 
sight  it  might  appear  to  savor  slightly  of  taking  the 
mote  out  of  our  brother's  eye  with  all  that  lack  of  sym- 
pathy and  fellow-feeling  that  becomes  a  person  with  a 
beam  in  his  own.  As  for  the  rest  of  your  letter,  I  think 
it  is  one  of  the  most  disheartening  experiences  to  all  of 
us  to  see  how  little  our  lives  match  our  own  convictions 
—  to  find  ourselves  capable  of  the  most  glorious  visions 
and  resolutions  at  one  moment  and  the  next  biting  our 
families'  heads  off  —  talking  meanly  and  basely  of  our 
neighbors'  motives  and  struggles,  or  upset  for  the  day 
because  the  fire  went  out  before  breakfast !  Such  knocks 
on  the  hard  realities  of  our  own  faults  and  weakness  are 
good  for  our  spiritual  pride  —  however  discouraging  and 


Aet.  25  81 

prove,  if  it  needed  proving,  that  ' '  we  have  not  wings, 
we  cannot  soar,  but  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb," 
and  alas!  to  kick  out  at  climbing  friends  with,  at  leisure 
moments! 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

"Thanksgiving  Day." 
Dear  Bessie, 

I  don't  want  to  let  November  pass  without  writing 
you,  tho'  when  I  send  my  dubiously  addressed  envelopes 
to  the  mail  I  feel  as  tho'  I  were  casting  my  bread  upon 
the  waters  to  be  returned  to  me  after  many  days  —  first 
having  been  perused  by  the  post-office  officials.  I  trust 
your  silence  only  means  your  chronic  state  of  breathless 
haste  and  occupation  in  running  after  lost  time,  for 
which  I  can  forgive  you  most  readily,  and  not  that  you 
have  been  ill  or  too  hard- worked,  nor  anxious  or  worried 
about  anything,  nor  discouraged  generally?  If  you  have 
been  and  I  don't  know  of  it  you  must  lay  it  to  my  being 
necessarily  ignorant  of  a  great  deal  that  comes  to  my 
friends  and  not  to  lack  of  affection,  won't  you?  You 
see  I  know  no  one  that  can  tell  me  of  you! 

The  dear  boy  [Bay  Lodge]  dined  here  last  night  on 
the  remains  of  Paulina's  Sewing  Circle  which  came  off 
yesterday  —  I  don't  mean  that  he  eat  the  work  or  the 
maidens'  bones,  tho'  it  looks  as  tho'  I  did.  —  What  a 
relief  it  is  to  have  those  dubious  festivities  in  the  past! 
The  day  before  I  lay  covered  with  Sybilline  Leaves  pro- 


82  1893 

saically  directed  to  Weber's  and  the  markets  and  feeling 
as  if  I  were  doing  a  sum  in  algebra  which  dealt  entirely 
with  unknown  quantities  —  haunted  on  one  side  by  a 
vision  of  forty  girls  turned  hungry  from  our  doors,  and 
on  the  other  by  an  equally  distressing  picture  of  the 
family  living  for  the  rest  of  their  natural  days  on  chicken 
creamed  with  rice  and  fish  croquettes.  However  it  seems 
to  have  been  a  brilliant  success —  Eleanor  Appleton  sung 
for  them  after  lunch  and  I  had  a  little  private  reception 
of  Constance  and  Bella  and  Ellen  upstairs,  where  I  found 
myself  surrounded  by  violets  and  pinks  which  the  dear 
children  brought  me!  Indeed  what  with  one  thing  and 
another  these  last  ten  days  have  been  very  full  —  for 
Paulina  and  I  are  really  only  the  active  and  passive 
moods  of  the  same  verb  so  that  her  gaieties  are  mine 
too. 

A  day  or  two  before  the  weddings  and  the  Blake  fes- 
tivity (when  we  had  retired  to  bed  after  the  fatiguing 
gaiety  of  a  Mt.  Vernon  St.  day),  a  letter  came  over  from 
Mrs.  Whitman  begging  Paulina  to  drink  tea  in  her  stu- 
dio with  a  Russian  Princess  of  unpronounceable  name 
and  to  bring  Bay  with  her,  which  she  accordingly  did. 
She  had  a  lovely  time,  as  she  always  does  when  she  can 
see  Mrs.  Whitman  and  Ellen  and  Mr.  Hooper  and  Mr. 
Brimmer  (the  last  mostly  from  afar)  and  was  introduced 
to  Mme.  Bourget,  who  is  such  a  lovely-looking  creature, 
and  to  Mme.  Blanc  —  being  presented  to  the  last  as  a 
"typical  American  girl,"  which  had  at  least  the  advan- 
tage of  enabling  her  to  stick  to  her  native  tongue.  As 
for  the  Princess  —  I  tell  Paulina  she  is  so  unused  to 
potentates  that  she  expected  a  tinsel  crown  and  asked 
Mrs.  Whitman  where  she  was?  —  not  suspecting  that  a 


Aet.  25  83 

small  dowdy  woman  (close  to  her)  dressed  in  black  and 
with  her  hair  coming  down  could  have  so  long  a  name! 
Mr.  Hooper  said  he  had  discovered  that  a  prince  in 
Russia  corresponded  with  a  justice  of  the  peace;  and 
that  they  learnt  all  the  languages  in  the  fond  hope  of 
escaping  from  their  native  land!  Mamma  inquires  at 
intervals  in  a  satirical  manner  if  I  am  writing  a  letter? 
It  does  seem  to  have  grown  rather  but  will  do  so  no 
more  but  get  itself  signed 

Your  affectionate 

ALICE  WBSTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Begun  Monday,  Dec.  llth. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

"  Now's  the  day  and  now's  the  hour  "  —  which  is  a 
poetical  way  of  saying  that  I'm  going  to  begin  a  letter 
to  you,  tho'  the  time  is  short  and  I  am  lying  in  the  midst 
of  chaos  —  Hamlet  casting  sheeps-eyes  at  "  Valentina" 
who  with  three  account-books,  letters,  lists  and  so  on 
decorate  my  bed — "The  Judge"  taking  an  unneces- 
sarily showery  bath  in  the  middle  distance  and  Paulina 
surrounded  by  immense  paste  board  boxes  in  the  fore- 
ground, having  apparently  just  waked  up  this  morning 
to  the  hideous  proximity  of  Christmas,  and  having  in 
consequence  loudly  demanded  a  pair  of  scissors,  some- 
thing round  and  all  the  chamois  skin  the  house  afforded. 
—  Can  it  be  possible  that  she  is  going  to  present  that 
original  gift,  a  penwiper,  to  such  friends  as  don't  have 
Hamlet's  picture  as  a  Christmas  card?  Speaking  of 
Hamlet  he  attended  ' '  Aunt  Sarah  Whitman's  "  fair  at 
Trinity  the  other  day  and  won  himself  much  renown 


84  1893 

by  performing  for  cookies,  but  all  social  triumphs  are 
forgotten  in  the  gloom  cast  on  him  by  the  threatened 
arrival  of  a  black  feline  rival  whom  I  wish  to  call 
' '  Mewt "  giving  it  the  full  benefit  of  the  mew  (to  quote 

our  former  friend ).  I  tell  Paulina  that  with  a  black 

cat  and  a  black  dog  we  shall  look  like  an  undertaking 
establishment  —  with  the  birds  of  course  to  attend  Chi- 
nese funerals  —  which  reminds  me  of  a  gruesome  anec- 
dote about  a  man  who,  on  being  asked  what  he  was 
making,  said,  "a  coffin  for  Number  42."  "  But,"  said 
his  friend,  "42  ain't  dead  yet." —  "No,  but  the  doctor 
told  me  and  he  knows  what  he  gi'n  him." 

Oh,  I  must  tell  you  the  most  delightful  thing  about 
the  Russian  Prince  Volkonsky.  —  After  a  three  weeks' 
visit  at  "  Shady  Hill,"  he  inquired  during  a  lecture  he 
gave  to  young  America  at  Memorial  Hall,  "  But  why 
will  you  all  chew  gum?  "  rather  a  good  joke  on  his  An- 
glomaniac,  Phil-Hellenic  Norton  hosts,  n'est-ce  pas? 

Your  letter  of  the  2nd  came  Saturday  and  I  picture 
you  now  stalking  the  wild  duck  thro'  marshy  spots  and 
am  rather  glad  not  to  be  with  you  when  armed  with 
anything  that  might  go  off  in  any  and  all  directions. 
We  shall  certainly  get  and  devour  anything  written  by 
Hughes  about  the  publisher  of  "our  set" —  Imagine 
my  sensations  the  other  day  when  Mrs.  Charles  Dalton 
told  me  that  she  had  been  artlessly  singing  the  praises 
of  Aunt  Charlotte  with  the  usual  fervor  to  a  friend  who 
remarked  "  That  it  was  all  very  well  but  she  knew  Miss 
Yonge's  niece  —  one  brought  up  by  her  and  she  quite 
detested  her  aunt!!  said  she  was  narrow!!  set!!  always 
making  every  one  do  just  what  she  thought  the  thing!! 
bigotted!!  etc."  but  the  paper  shows  an  inclination  to 
burn  up  like  a  scroll  at  the  mere  repetition  of  these 


Aet.  25  85 

words.  Perhaps  she  resembles  Miss  Jane  Mohun  in 
her  treatment  of  Gillian  (who  I  always  thought  needed 
looking  after,  with  that  horrid  taint  in  her  blood,  which 
led  her  under  cover  of  reading  the  ' '  Lyra  Innocentium  " 
in  the  garden,  to  whisper  thro'  the  iron  fence  with  the 
White  youth.) 

The  Hoopers  are  educating  us  in  a  great  many  ways 
at  least  into  a  knowledge  of  our  dense  ignorance  on 
every  subject,  except  possibly  the  domestic  life  of  a 
few  men  influenced  by  the  Tractarian  Movement.  The 
house  holds  at  the  moment  a  lot  of  photographs  of 
Michelangelo's  things  which  Mr.  Hooper  sent  in  and  a 
book  of  his  mother's  poems  (just  printed  for  the  family 
—I  wonder  if  you  ever  have  happened  to  have  heard 
any  of  them  —  Miss  Lowell  read  me  a  good  many  last 
summer)  which  are  perfectly  beautiful.  Then  last  week 
Ellen  brought  me  in  a  lot  of  her  father's  collection  of 
William  Blake,  which  affected  me  to  such  an  extent  that 
sulphonal  proved  powerless  and  I  lay  awake  a  good  part 
of  the  night,  staring  into  a  darkness  which  served  as 
a  good  background  for  his  tremendous  conceptions  of 
life  and  death — resurrection  into  eternal  youth — weird 
attitudes  and  gorgeous  color.  — 

Here  I  was  interrupted  by  a  call  first  from  Helen 
Storrow  and  her  baby  —  (you  know  the  spinster  aunt 
has  a  sneaking  fondness  for  babies  and  their  outside 
wraps  mingled  with  awe)  and  then  Mrs.  Henley  Luce 
who  was  as  sprightly  as  usual  and  has  just  gone  leav- 
ing me  half  an  hour  before  lunch  to  finish  this  letter. 

Your  devoted  correspondent, 

SNAP. 


86  1893 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Wednesday  Evening. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Tea  is  over  and  dinner  too  and  as  I  lie  here  alone  be- 
fore mamma  comes  up,  I  feel  that  it  is  a  happy  moment 
to  write  you  a  line.  You  can  think  of  me  with  the  fire- 
light playing  over  our  beautiful  "  Blake,"  and  the  two 
birds  with  their  capes  over  their  cages  sitting  side  by 
side  on  the  table  below.  "Hamlet"  has  just  rushed 
in  —  inspected  me  with  a  sniff  of  disappointment  and 
rushed  off  again  on  a  vain  search  for  his  Aunt  Paulina, 
who  has  gone  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Hoopers  so  as 
to  the  more  easily  attend  Mabel's  party.  —  Tomorrow 
Loulie  spends  the  night  here  to  go  to  Bella  Curtis's 
Sociable  and  Joe  Lee  is  to  dine  with  her. 

I  am  running  on  in  my  usual  irrelevant  way  but  that 
will  convince  you  that  this  is  not  a  forgery  better  than 
half  a  dozen  signatures. 

I  was  very  stupid  the  other  day  and  I  didn't  even  find 
out  when  you  were  going  back  nor  a  thousand  things 
that  I  thought  of  when  the  door  shut  on  you  and  it  was 
too  late.  Do  you  have  rooms  all  to  yourself  and  how 
many  of  your  fellow  teachers  live  at  Mrs.  Danforth's? 
At  least  I  can  fancy  a  room  made  beautiful  with  a  copy 
of  "  the  Morning  Stars."  —  I  trust,  dear,  you  left  them 
all  well  at  home  and  carried  a  less  burdened  and  wounded 
heart  away  with  you  than  in  the  fall.  Sometime  when 
you  have  plenty  of  time  and  feel  like  it,  you  must  write 
and  tell  me  about  yourself  and  as  many  of  your  troubles 
and  perplexities  as  it  helps  you  —  or  is  possible  —  to 


Aet.  25  87 

speak  of.     However  if  you  don't,  you  know  how  much 
I  always  feel  with  you  and  that  I  am  always 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Sunday  Afternoon, 

December  17th. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

By  the  time  you  get  this,  Christmas  will  have  come 
and  gone  but  I  am  going  to  write  a  line  for  all  that  to 
tell  you  how  much  all  our  thoughts  are  with  you  all  — 
at  this  season  most  especially.  There  isn't  a  day  I  don't 
think  of  you,  dear  old  girl,  and  this  afternoon  as  I  lie 
here  with  the  firelight  playing  among  my  Penates,  I 
could  cry  with  longing  to  see  you  and  share  some  of  my 
blessings  with  you  —  not  material  ones,  but  associations 
and  a  path  lying  among  old  familiar  fields.  It  is  a  com- 
fort sometimes  to  think  that  our  lots  are  chosen  for  us 
and  that  we  learn  to  love  God  for  our  own  sunshine  that 
we  may  trust  him  for  what  seems  all  shadow  in  other 
people's  lives.  We  need  all  our  faith  and  hope  this 
winter  in  the  midst  of  these  hard  times,  where  hunger 
and  cold  are  brought  close  home  to  one  and  where  there 
seems  to  be  so  much  illness  and  grief  every  where  — 
with  our  guide  and  comforter  gone  too  from  among  us 
and  the  wilderness  to  cross  alone.  —  I  don't  know  what 
makes  me  write  so  gloomy  a  letter  when  I  meant  to  tell 
you  how  the  days  which  we  dreaded  so  bitterly  —  and 
which  when  I  thought  of  for  Paulina  made  my  very  soul 
faint  —  have  brought  their  own  strength  and  brightness 
with  them .  It  isn't  so  hard  for  me  lying  at  home  here 


88  1893 

and  not  having  to  face  strangers,  nor  pass  the  house  on 
the  way  to  church  (which  is  in  a  way  the  saddest  of  all); 
but  Paulina  is  a  brave  little  thing  and  takes  up  her  old 
duties  and  goes  ahead  and  finds  comfort  in  many  things. 
Her  Sunday  School  Class  and  her  boys  and  their  fami- 
lies ( —  one  of  whom,  by  the  way,  has  just  come  by  the 
help  of  a  few  weeks'  coal  and  food  thro'  a  very  near 
pinch  and  who  thro'  her  exertions  got  a  place  yesterday 
to  our  great  delight  — )  are  a  great  source  of  interest  — 
and  seeing  so  much  of  the  Hoopers  and  Higginsons  helps 
her  over  many  a  hard  place.  Music  and  pictures  are  a 
great  deal  more  to  her  than  they  used  to  be  and  the 
"  Symphonies  "  are  become  a  kind  of  church,  she  says. 
I  feel  that,  myself,  —  at  least  about  pictures  ( —  music 
I  get  little  of  in  my  bed  as  you  can  imagine  — )  and  very 
strongly  about  Nature,  as  if  I  had  found  the  key  to  what 
had  been  locked  before.  The  sky  and  stars,  when  I  was 
alone,  used  to  give  me  a  sense  of  remoteness  and  lone- 
liness where  now  it  is  just  peace  and  an  answer  —  not 
understood  but  sufficient  —  to  all  my  problems.  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  my  sunsets,  or 
rather  the  afterglow,  that  I  got  from  my  windows  last 
summer  and  the  light  on  the  sea.  —  It  was  like  reading 
the  "  Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard  "  —  made  visible. 
Wednesday  last,  the  13th,  was  Mr.  Brooks's  birthday 
and  Mrs.  Whitman  sent  me  the  most  beautiful  amber 
drop  —  the  shape  is  what  they  call  an  ecclesiastical  oval 
I  believe  —  with  "My heart  watcheth,"  or  rather  "  Cor 
meum  vigilat,"  marked  on  it,  and  a  little  thin  gold  chain 
to  fasten  it  round  my  neck,  so  that  I  can  wear  it  day  and 
night  as  a  talisman  against  despair  or  discouragement 
and  the  evil  eye  generally  —  It  is  really  perfectly  beau- 
tiful and  "The  Venerable  Bead,"  as  it  is  fondly  called, 


Aet.  25  89 

has  much  increased  the  attentions  of  my  friends,  who 
come  to  call  on  it  rather  than  on  me.  Mrs.  Whitman 
is  as  devoted  as  ever,  and  finds  time  to  run  in  and  cheer 
me  up  in  the  midst  of  all  her  pursuit  after  lost  time,  or 
to  write  or  send  me  Post-Flood  literature  (I  personally 
read  only  ante-Noah  folios  you  know)  when  she  can't 
come  in  person.  By  the  way,  I  am  really  a  great  deal 
better  —  sit  up  dressed  two  hours  a  day  and  hope  to  get 
downstairs  shortly  —  the  day  after  Christmas  I  believe 
has  been  set  as  a  Child's  Party  including  a  Christmas 
tree  (trimmed  by  Paulina  and  Elinor)  and  Santa  Claus 
(represented  by  that  nice  obliging  Bella),  which  is  not 
considered  a  favorable  opportunity  for  the  debut  of  a  tot- 
tering invalid.  I  shall  write  again  however  before  that 
and  tell  you  some  anecdotes  I  have  been  saving  up  for 
you  and  also  the  joy  your  zenana  band  and  other  jests 
caused  us!  That  sprightly  letter  came  Saturday  after 
I  had  sent  your  "  Kingsley  "  and  a  sermon  to  Mrs. 
Foster  —  which  I  hope  came  safely  to  hand?  Please 
give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Foster  and  tell  her  how  much  we 
all  think  of  you  all  —  always.  Paulina  is  at  the  Hig- 
ginson's  or  she  would  send  hers  to  you,  dear  Boosie, 

Your 

''SNAP.  " 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Begun  Tuesday,  Dec.  19th. 
Ended  Thursday,  the  21st. 
My  own  dearest  Elizabeth, 

What's  the  use  of  saying  I  won't  write  you,  when  I 
can  no  more  help  it  than  the  drunkard  can  help  instinc- 
tively longing  for  his  dram  —  and  it  is  growing  on  me! 


90  1893 

The  busier  and  tireder  I  am,  the  more  strenuously  I  de- 
mand pen,  ink,  and  paper.  Here  it  is,  not  ten  o'clock 
of  a  snowy  morning  in  Christmas  week  —  my  market- 
ing lists  just  made  out  —  my  meals  not  ordered  and  a 
near  prospect  of  Christmas  gees  to  see  done  up  and 
directed.  Ellen  Hooper  has  just  made  me  a  short  call 
to  discuss  matrimonial  prospects  in  general  and  has 
now  gone  with  Paulina  up  to  Ethel's  to  gather  the 
latest  intelligence. 

As  for  Paulina,  she  says  there  is  matrimonial  electri- 
city in  the  very  air  ( —  even  on  the  hill!  — )  snaps  apples 
and,  I  tell  her,  is  like  an  excitable  maid  servant  who 
sees  shrouds  in  the  candles  and  wedding  rings  in  tea- 
cups. She  begins  before  breakfast  and,  when  housed  by 
a  storm,  expects  mamma  to  lay  down  her  mending  and 
I  my  Old  Testament  Exigesis  (of  which  this  is  an  ex- 
ample—  "  It  was  a  little  hard  for  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
to  come  all  that  way  merely  to  have  Solomon  ask  her 
'  Why  the  miller  wore  a  white  hat?'")  expects  mamma, 
I  say,  to  give  up  her  work  and  I  my  study  and  listen  to 
such  idle  questions  as  ' '  Do  you  know  why  your  hairpins 
jump  out?  " —  I  tell  her  we  are  women  of  affairs  and 
that  her  idea  of  business  seems  to  be  that  of  a  gypsy, 
who  need  only  set  up  a  stock  of  one  red  shawl  and  a 
dirty  pack  of  cards  to  trot  about  getting  her  friends  to 
cross  her  hand  with  silver,  before  telling  them  that  the 
dark  man  will  play  them  false  and  they  can  be  led  but 
not  driven. 


This  house  by  the  way  has  been  a  perfect  orchestra  of 
coughs  from  attic  to  basement  —  Uncle  Melly  housed  in 


Aet.  25  91 

the  lower  rooms  —  people  barking  in  every  direction  and 
outside  winds  blowing —  chimney  pots  whizzing — blinds 
cracking  —  walkers  skating  on  glare  ice  —  snow  falling 
off  roofs  like  minute  guns  and  the  thermometer  down  to 
six  degrees  above,  and  tropical  at  that  when  one  reads 
the  accounts  of  weather  22  and  30  and  38  and  40  degrees 
below  no  further  off  than  New  Hampshire  and  Maine. 

We  just  received  per  mail  an  advertisement  of  a  sale 
of  somebody's  effects,  in  which  one  of  the  items  was 
"Three  shell  hairpins" —  I  am  tempted  to  see  how  imi- 
tation shell  ones  would  go  in  these  hard  times.  Apropos 
of  advertisements,  Dr.  Bigelow  sent  me  one,  gotten  up 
in  English  by  some  Japanese  store  and  recommending 
their  incense  in  language  worthy  of  the  Portuguese  guide 
—  ' '  The  incense  helps  one  to  keep  his  mind  fresh,  etc. 
etc.  Gentlemen  and  Ladies  who  rove  in  good  society 
are  advised  to  use  it  at  home  and  perfume  their  clothes 
and  hats  with  it  as  a  help  to  keep  up  respectability 
proper  to  them."  A  real  investment  I  should  say  for 
some  people  however  expensive  the  first  plant  might  be, 
if  that  is  a  correct  business  expression.  Tomorrow, 
Ellen  goes  to  lunch  with  Paulina  at  Mrs.  Higginson's 
and  then  Paulina  goes  to  tea  with  Ellen  at  Dr.  Bigelow's 
house  which  is  so  full  of  surprising  things  that  it  is  like 
taking  Russian  Caravan  tea,  P.  says,  in  Aladdin's  cave. 
Next  week,  Paulina  is  to  spend  two  or  three  days  at 
Manchester  with  a  young  houseparty  at  the  Higginson's 
and  the  day  before  that  gaiety  on  one  side  and  numerous 
trees  and  Coquelin  on  the  other  —  she  is  going  to  take 
time  to  be  vaccinated  —  a  common  source  of  evening 
amusement  here  now.  Sunday,  when  I  wrote  you,  she 
and  a  lot  of  others  were  taking  supper  at  the  Higgin- 


92   '  1893 

son's,  after  walking  in  from  Cambridge  where  they  had 
had  tea  in  Mr.  Bake  well's  rooms  and  been  over  the 
Psychical  Laboratory,  where  they  bring  science  (!)  to 
bear  on  the  "  unseen  world  "  by  means  of  whirling  their 
victims  round  on  piano  stools  —  making  them  sing  high 
C,  ride  on  a  see-saw  and  have  a  jack-in-the-box  snapped 
under  their  nose.  Mr.  Hooper's  account  of  the  post- 
card sent  by  The  Psychical  Research  Society  to  an  old 
lady  of  84  to  ask  how  she  felt  in  a  swing,  forms  a  truly 
spiritual  test;  and  the  story  Prof.  James  told  of  the 
Divinity  Student  in  one  of  his  classes,  who  was  sent  to 
feel  his  skin  with  a  pin  and  returned  full  of  enthusiasm 
at  having  discovered  that  some  parts  of  it  were  more 
sensitive  than  others  and  added,  "It's  perfectly  fine —  it 
proves  the  immortability  of  the  soul, "  seems  eminently 
probable!  With  lots  of  love, 

Your  devoted 

NANNY. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

Christmas  Eve. 
My  dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

You  must  let  me  thank  you  just  this  once  for  the 
lovely  flowers  you  sent  yesterday — the  day  of  all  days 
in  the  month  when  I  love  to  have  something  beautiful 
to  put  before  my  pictures,  and  yesterday  especially  when 
one  had  only  to  shut  one's  eyes  to  see  him  beside  the 
Trinity  Church  tree  giving  the  candy  horns  to  the  chil- 
dren as  they  came  up  the  chancel  by  twos  and  threes. 
In  some  very  close  dear  way  one  feels  he  must  have 
been  there  this  year  too  —  Christmas  can't  help  being 
a  happy  time  and  bringing  its  own  brightness  with  it  in 


Aet.  25  93 

the  midst  of  the  sadness.  It  seems  as  if  we  were  in- 
tended to  gather  strength  and  comfort  for  the  anniver- 
saries that  are  coming  so  near  now.  —  What  should  we 
have  done  last  year  but  for  you  and  Ethel?  Your  calls 
and  the  hope  of  them  were  like  gleams  of  light  in  "  a 
horror  of  great  darkness  "  that  seemed  sometimes  to  be 
closing  in  around  us  —  that  seems  so  sometimes  now, 
only  that  thro'  the  long  months  one  has  learnt  to  trust 
God  and  take  courage. 
With  loving  Christmas  wishes  to  you  all, 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 
Begun  Thursday,  Dec.  28. 

Finished  Saturday. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  the  tea-cup  which  came 
intact  and  which  I  have  been  keeping  as  a  vase  since 
Christmas  Day  to  feed  my  eyes  on  and  remind  me  of 
you!  Today  it  will  join  its  brothers  and  sisters  below 
stairs  till  five  o'clock  when  I  propose  to  drink  your 
health  out  it  in  foaming  Bohea —  Paulina  was  not  so 
pious  about  not  opening  her  box  but  proceeded  at  once 
to  try  whether  she  liked  California  candy  and,  like  Mr. 
Pickwick,  tried  again  and  again  to  make  sure.  She 
decided  that  she  did. 

Your  letter  of  the  14th  got  here  Friday  evening  just 
after  another  of  my  half -fastened  letters  had  been  sent 
forth  into  the  wilds,  but  this  one  shall  be  made  as  tight 
as  wax  and  gum  can  make  it.  —  Your  poem  was  chanted 


94:  1893 

with  shawms  and  psaltery  and  accompanied  by  the  dance. 
I  only  regretted  that  my  dressing  jacket  yclept  "the 
linen  ephod"  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  Since  then  I 
have  received  your  letter  of  the  19th  —  what  a  duck 
you  are  to  write  so  often!  —  Only  innumerable  Christ- 
mas notes  to  write  ( —  the  last  four  I  got  thro'  yester- 
day— )  could  have  kept  me  from  being  equally  devoted. 
By  the  way  you  ask  if  I  remember  "  Nuttie's  Father  "  ? 
Certainly  I  do,  tho'  it  is  many  a  year  since  I  read  it. 
That  is  the  one  that  mamma  came  home  and  told  me 
about  as  a  new  novel  for  grown-up  people  which  Mrs. 
Morison  had  read  and  found  very  interesting.  I  asked 
the  name  and  rather  to  my  surprise  was  told  "A  Day 
Out  Nutting  " ! !  —  a  weird  one  it  struck  me  to  give  a 
three  volume  romance  for  adults. 

Well,  Christmas  has  come  and  gone  and  one  has  a 
blank  sense  of  having  lost  something  to  look  forward 
to!  However  one  may  dread  it  beforehand,  and  how- 
ever many  sad  memories  it  brings  thick  about  one, 
Christmas  always  brings  its  own  brightness  with  it, 
doesn't  it?  I  think  it  is  not  only  the  great  hopes  and 
meanings  in  the  festival  itself,  but  the  feeling  too  that 
it  and  Easter  must  be  kept  there  as  well  as  here  — 
that  makes  one  feel  less  the  gulf  of  the  grave  than  on 
merely  family  days  like  Thanksgivings  and  birthdays, 
when  one  sees  the  human  side  of  the  sorrow  only  — 
I  can't  express  myself  but  you  know  what  I  mean. 

Dear  old  Bessie,  you  wish  me  a  happy  New  Year 
and  better  health  and  I  wish  you  the  same  and  every 
blessing —  I  think  you  are  one  of  those  who  in  the 
midst  of  sorrows  and  anxieties — away  from  home  and 
friends  and  old  associations  —  and  with  constant  physi- 
cal weakness  to  combat  have  struck  down  into  the  real 


Aet.  25  95 

source  of  strength  and  happiness  —  May  joys  come  to 
you  too  — 

Paulina  is  employing  this  leisure  morning  by  turning 
also  her  steps  Cambridge-wards  to  pay  a  visit  of  inspec- 
tion on  her  third  stalwart  nephew,  who  appeared  on  the 
scene  last  Friday,  the  22nd,  and  is  pronounced  by  his 
impartial  grandmother  to  be  a  very  fine  boy  indeed. 
"Little  Robert,"  whom  I  saw  for  a  few  minutes  before 
the  tree  Christmas,  seemed  more  doubtful  about  his 
charms  and  added  that  the  funny  part  was  that  no- 
body seemed  to  know  his  name  —  at  which  we  mur- 
mured "How  anonymous!" —  Both  Charley  and  he 
are  grown  into  such  pretty  little  fellows  that  we  speak 
of  them  now  as  "  our  nephews,"  while  the  first  year  or 
more  of  their  existence  they  were  alluded  to  vaguely  as 
' '  mamma's  grandchildren  "  —  By  the  way  in  Germany 
wouldn't  they  pension  the  aunts  of  three  powerful 
nephews  only  two  years  apart?  —  just  as  they  give  a 
bonus  in  England  to  the  proud  father  of  triplets? 

Since  Christmas  I  have  burst  out  into  white  and  crim- 
son azalias  and  poinsettia  and  cyclamen  and  a  fern 
which  if  I  am  a  tiger  —  which  some  have  hinted  —  must 
make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  lying  in  the  shadow  of  my 
native  jungle.  My  seven  bunches  of  violets  have  gone 
the  way  of  all  flesh,  but  a  dozen  pink  roses  have  been 
saved  from  the  burning  to  say  nothing  of  all  the  flowers 
that  have  come  since  then,  so  I  don't  think  even  Santa 
Barbara  can  look  more  summery —  Indeed  my  dear 
ugly  old  room  has  been  made  so  attractive  with  pic- 
tures and  things  that  I  shall  be  more  loth  than  ever  to 
leave  it.  We  have  a  lovely  Vandyke  Madonna  over  the 


96  1893 

bureau  —  and  a  Perugino  St.  Francis,  and  angels  by 
Benozzo  Gozzoli,  make  sunshine  in  two  shady  corners; 
and  loveliest  of  all  a  five-foot  enlarged  copy  of  the 
last  page  of  William  Blake's  "  Jerusalem  "  which  Mr. 
Hooper  has  just  had  made!  It  is  the  weary  soul's  re- 
turn into  the  bosom  of  the  Eternal  Life  —  a  female  fig- 
ure with  arms  stretched  up  and  such  tired  hands  as  if 
she  had  just  been  rescued  by  the  other  figure  bending 
over  her  « '  with  head  wool  white  "  —  a  great  circle  of 
light  behind  them,  and  below  those  curves  and  flames 
that  Blake  uses  to  denote  vision  and  mystery  —  I  won- 
der if  you  would  like  it  as  much  as  I  do?  so  many 
people  don't  care  for  Blake  at  all,  and  think  with  Mr. 
Chapman,  who  wrote  Mrs.  Whitman  that  "a  mystic 
was  only  an  artist  who  couldn't  paint "  —  apropos  of 
the  fashionable  excitement  over  Blake.  Helen  and  Jim 
gave  us  a  big  plaster  cast  of  a  lovely  ' '  Madonna  and 
Child  "  which  I  have  had  hung  at  the  foot  of  my  bed  — 
I  only  wish  I  knew  whose  it  is  and  not  simply  that  it 
isn't  a  della  Robbia  but  in  art  matters,  you  know,  I  am 
like  the  young  lady,  to  whom  a  very  shy  mathematical 
friend  of  Mr.  Hooper's  was  presented  because  as  his 
hostess  told  him  she  was  so  fond  of  mathematics.  He 
accordingly  began  the  conversation  with  the  differential 
calculus,  and  was  told  by  his  companion  that,  fond  as 
she  was  of  mathematics,  she  had  never  got  further  than 
decimal  fractions. 

Saturday. 

This  letter  would  not  have  hung  on  so  long,  but  that 
Thursday  evening  I  went  downstairs  —  (my  third  at- 
tempt — )  to  see  Dr.  Bigelow  and  had  a  frightful  even- 
ing followed  by  a  feeble  day  yesterday  in  consequence. 


Aet.  25  97 

—  All  this  is  slightly  discouraging  and  it  looks  as  if  I 
should  have  to  stick  to  my  own  room  for  a  long  time  to 
come!  —  It  isn't  only  the  stairs,  but  the  rooms  down- 
stairs are  never  so  frigid  as  I  am  happy  in  and  one  per- 
son at  a  time  seems  to  border  on  an  impossibility.     The 
other  evening  not  only  the  family  stuck  to  the  field,  but 
Uncle  Melly  broke  every  rule  by  admitting  an  extra  per- 
son so  that  the  room  reeled  about  me,  and  I  felt  as  lost 
and  confused  as  only  a  person  feels  who  has  been  kept 
to  one  visitor  at  a  time,  varied  by  solitary  confinement 
for  so  long.  —  Why  do  I  tell  you  all  this  —  except  that 
I  tell  you  anything  that  comes  uppermost  in  what  I  am 
pleased  to  term  my  mind  and  my  pen  has  a  habit  of 
getting  away  with  me  —   For  the  present  I  am  to  see 
anyone  I  want  to  see  up  here  and  think  of  following 
Grandma   Lodge's   Plan  and   draping  my  bed  in  the 
American  Flag  —   Yesterday  I  saw  Ellen  Hooper  whom 
I  am  never  too  ill  to  see  and  she  is  coming  again  this 
morning.     I  tell  her,  I  sacrifice  friends  and  honor  for 
her  sake  and  have  had  wild  dreams  of  letting  her  in  and 
out  by  the  fire  escape  (which  we  haven't  got)  so  as  not 
to  excite  jealousy  or  comment.     She  lies  down  on  the 
bed  beside  me  —  in  the  flat  pillowless  way  you  some- 
times affect  and  which  always  fills  me  with  amazement 

—  and  Paulina  reads  to  us  —   For  some  reason  I  get 
more  rested  with  her  than  without  her  —  perhaps  be- 
cause she's  so  lovely  to  look  at —    I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  her  the  other  day  after  she  had  spent  the 
night  here  and  was  resting  after  her  party  in  a  white 
wrapper  with  all  her  red-gold  hair  hanging  down  below 
her  waist  —  like  nothing  but  a  picture  of  a  Princess  in 
a  Fairy  Tale. 


98  1893 

The  other  evening  Mrs.  Whitman  came  to  see  me  hav- 
ing just  got  back  from  a  Christmas  trip  to  see  all  her 
friends  and  relations  in  New  York,  Philadelphia  and 
Baltimore  —  She  looked  more  thoroughly  tired  and  dis- 
couraged than  I  have  ever  seen  her  and  moreover  spoke 
with  no  attempt  to  conceal  it.  Her  voice  was  almost  a 
whisper  from  bronchitis  and  her  vaccination  was  taking 
violently.  Everybody  has  been  vaccinated  of  late  — 
with  the  exception  of  mamma  and  me  —  and  as  neigh- 
bor meets  neighbor  upon  the  street  instead  of  exchang- 
ing a  "  How  do  you  do?  "  they  say  a  hurried  u  arm  or 
leg?  and  have  you  begun  to  take  yet?  "  before  passing 
on.  Mrs.  Perkins  says  the  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Miss 
Wynne  "  deals  with  our  dear  ' '  set "  and  is  interesting 
—  Mamma  and  I  have  finished  "Daniel  MacMillan." 
He  reminds  me  in  spots  of  Felix,  doesn't  he  you?  By  the 
way  some  day  do  read  Maurice's  "  Gospel  of  St.  John  " 
I'm  sure  you  would  find  it  everything  to  you — at  least  I 
hope  so — it  is  to  me.  —  I  am  writing  out  of  the  prettiest 
Cloisonne  inkstand  Mrs.  Dexter  gave  me,  and  Paulina 
will  seal  this  with  the  dearest  old  Bolognese  lamp  with 
little  instruments  of  torture  dangling  from  it  given  her 
by  the  Higginsons  —  They  gave  me  a  lovely  Norwegian 
spoon  but  more  than  all  my  presents  put  together,  I  love 
a  little  silver  sword  (a  paper  cutter  and  book-marker 
together)  which  Gertrude  Brooks  gave  me  because  it 
was  Mr.  Brooks's  and  has  his  initials  on  it. 

Your  loving 

NANCY. 


Aet.  25  99 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

Man  is  the  world's  high  priest ;  he  doth  present 
The  sacrifice  for  all,  while  they  below 
Unto  the  sacrifice  mutter  an  assent. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


Sir  Francis  Bacon  says,  ' '  When  I  have  ascended  be- 
fore men,  I  have  descended  in  humiliation  before  God." 


100  1894 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

January  1st,  1894-. 

A  happy  New  Year  to  you,  dear  old  Bessie,  and  by 
the  time  this  letter  reaches  you  many  happy  returns  of 
the  day  as  well!  Ninety-four  was  begun  with  the  love- 
liest sunny  morning  and  with  your  Christmas  Eve  letter 
which  is  better  than  the  sunshine,  tho'  it  made  me  cry. 
I  begin  to  feel  as  you  did  last  year  when  Anna  Amory 
described  this  aged  saint  in  '-  the  little  upper  chamber," 
and  you  were  divided  between  thinking  the  worst  of 
my  chances  of  life  and  reason,  and  a  conviction  that  it 
would  prove  to  be  a  case  of  mistaken  identity. 

You  speak  of  Hedley  Vicars'  Life  —  He  was  the  one 
you  know  whom  Mrs.  Whitman  compared  to  Mary 
Beaumont's  husband,  and  tho'  we  were  totally  in  the 
dark  when  she  called  the  Commodore,  ' '  A  perfect  Hed- 
ley Vicars  "  we  have  since,  of  course,  done  nothing  but 
run  across  allusions  to  him.  His  life  was  on  that  list  I 
gave  you,  wasn't  it?  I've  always  meant  to  read  it  — 
There  was  some  one,  who  was  it?  on  whose  life  it  had 
the  greatest  influence  —  Either  Ruskin  or  David  Liv- 
ingstone or  some  one  else  equally  different  from  either. 
As  Uncle  Melly  sneeringly  remarks  of  English  biogra- 
phies, "  this  was  the  Hedley  Vicars'  time  "  I'm  sure  it 
must  have  occurred  somewhere.  By  the  way  did  you 
ever  read  Ruskin's  "  Faith  of  a  Knight,"  the  Knight  be- 
ing Sir  Herbert  Edwardes?  Not  that  I  have,  you  know, 
but  only  mean  to.  We  have  been  keeping  Hamlet's 
photograph  to  send  you  for  a  birthday  card.  I  hope  it 
came  safely  and  that  you  understood  how  much  love  it 
carried  across  the  continent  with  it.  His  mournful  looks 


Aet.  25  101 

in  it  are  nothing  compared  to  those  he  has  been  casting 
on  "s'Aunt  Paulina"  for  giving  him  a  bath  some  time 
since,  nor  his  appeals  for  sympathy  to  me  and  Dr.  Mason 
who  has  just  torn  himself  away  from  his  caresses. 

Speaking  of  aged  dames,  I  told  mamma  the  other  day 
that  I  didn't  think  even  they  could  describe  me  as  "a 
sad  sufferer,"  one  of  their  favorite  and  most  depressing 
expressions;  but  would  have  to  fall  back  on  another  that 
they  love  almost  as  dearly,  and  say  that  "I  enjoyed 
much  ill  health  "  —  You've  heard  them  use  it  haven't 
you?  Would  any  other  body  of  one's  fellow  beings? 

I  want  to  send  you  some  sort  of  letter  —  no  matter 
what  —  to  tell  you  that  the  tenth  of  January  is  a  red 
letter  day  to  me,  seeing  that  was  the  time  my  Elizabeth 
saw  fit  to  make  her  appearance  and  to  change  the  world 
into  a  pleasanter  place  for  one  person  at  least  —  who 
didn't  come  on  the  scene  for  ten  months  later.  Your 
place  in  my  affections  and  thoughts  gets  larger  every 
day  —  perhaps  from  your  reprehensible  habit  of  wig- 
gling so. 

Enter  Mrs.  Dexter  and  exit  all  the  paper 

Your  own 

NANCY. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Wednesday  Jan.  10. 

Your  two  New  Year  letters  came  last  night,  dearest 
Boosie,  and  I  was  so  grieved  to  see  that  you  still  had  the 


102  1894 

headache,  which  worried  me  in  your  last  two  or  three  epis- 
tles, and  which  I  fondly  hoped  might  be  too  much  Christ- 
mas — presents  before  and  note- writing  afterwards .  Tell 
me  how  you  are,  won't  you?  I  had  so  much  rather  be 
anxious  about  you,  darling,  than  kept  in  ignorance  and 
you  know  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  feel  that  you  oc- 
casionally relieve  yourself  by  speaking  to  me  of  some  of 
your  troubles.  I  have  known  you  too  long,  dear  old 
thing,  to  mistake  your  pluck  and  your  laughter  for 
happy  unconsciousness  of  all  you're  cut  off  from;  but  I 
comfort  myself  by  thinking  that  a  deep  capacity  for  pain 
means  a  deep  capacity  for  happiness,  which  no  outward 
circumstances  or  accidents  or  griefs  can  quite  prevent 
one's  exercising.  This  is  your  birthday,  isn't  it?  I  hope 
the  years  that  are  coming  will  bring  more  sunshine  to 
you  and  that  every  day  you  may  feel  surer  of  the  love 
of  old  friends  and  of  their  need  of  you.  I  am  so  much 
stronger  than  I  was  that  you  would  scarcely  know  me 
and  tho'  I  am  not  to  try  the  stairs  for  sometime,  I  flaunt 
about  up  here  in  a  gay  teagown  and  am  to  try  sitting 
up  for  a  little  while  every  morning — and  this  for  "a 
growing  girl" !!! 


Thursday. 

You  don't  like  cats,  or  I'm  sure  you'd  admire  my  black 
"Mewt,"  when  she  leaps  into  the  top  of  my  towering 
fern  or  throws  herself  onto  my  bed  in  an  attitude  of 
lithe  abandon,  looking  exactly  like  Sarah  Bernhardt. 


Your  loving 
ALKY. 


Aet.  25  103 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Monday,  Jan  15th. 
My  own  dearest  Bessie, 

I  am  going  to  write  you  again  so  soon  to  do  duty  for 
the  next  fortnight  and  that  you  may  understand  my 
silence  and  not  be  startled  by  it,  if  I  haven't  the  heart 
to  write  even  you.  It  is  a  year  ago  yesterday  since 
Mr.  Brooks  made  us  his  last  call,  and  the  days  that  are 
coming  are  thick  with  memories  which  seem  fresh  as 
new  griefs.  The  dull  pain  is  harder  to  bear  than  the 
first  stunning  blow —  One  has  lived  and  slept  and 
waked  to  the  blank  day  so  long  with  it  that  one  real- 
izes that  it  is  true  and  that  it  must  be  borne.  It  com- 
forts me  to  think  that  we  all  have  got  closer  to  him 
and  to  each  other  thro'  the  pain  and  darkness.  God 
bless  and  keep  you,  dear  Bessie,  and  bring  us  all  to- 
gether, where  there  shall  be  no  parting  and  where  the 
former  things  which  shall  have  passed  away  have  done 
their  work. 

Friday  and  Saturday,  we  went  down  to  zero  with  a 
real  old-fashioned  blustering  wind  in  the  chimney,  so 
that  I  had  a  blazing  fire  all  night  with  Valentina  sitting 
before  it  with  such  a  pathetic  little  croupy  cough  and 
heavy  breathing  —  a  much  realer  touch  of  the  grippe 
than  mine  which,  if  they  didn't  call  everything  the 
grippe  nowadays,  was  only  a  very  bad  cold  the  first 
I've  had  these  five  years  —  Isn't  that  a  good  advertise- 
ment for  a  mortal  disease  that  keeps  minor  ailments  at 
bay?  It  kept  me  dull  and  feverish  all  the  first  part  of 
last  week,  and  then  left  my  brain  lively  only  to  reduce 
me  to  a  voiceless  condition  when  I  had  to  write  my  de- 
sires and  thick  coming  fancies  like  Joe  Brownlow  in 


104  1894 

"Magnum  Bonum" —  Apropos  of  Aunt  Charlotte,  do 
you  remember  Carlyle's  impolite  allusions  to  Keble  in 
his  Diary  as  "that  ape  named  Keble  who  wrote  the 
'  Christian  Year '  and  whom  all  the  world  was  flocking 
to  see"  ?  But  then  we  all  know  Carlyle's  dyspeptic  out- 
look! Dickson's  wife  and  small  family  have  all  been 
going  thro'  "the  grippy  round,  the  coughy  task  "  as  well 
as  Paulina  who  got  well  on  some  "  cold  pills  "  sent  her 
by  Mrs.  Whitman  and  taken  every  hour  she  wasn't 
dancing  in  a  low-necked  gown.  She  returned  the  box 
with  a  note  in  the  regular  advertisement  style.  —  "For 
years  I  have  suffered  from  an  excruciating  cold,  lame- 
ness of  head,  redness  of  nose  and  a  jewishness  of  accent 
which  has  estranged  my  many  admirers  —  but  six  of 
Dr.  Sarah  Whitman's  cold  pills  restored  me  to  useful- 
ness and  beauty.  Signed  'Miss  P.  Smith,  Somerville 
Row,  Chelsea.'  You've  noticed  the  elite  quarters  in 
which  takers  of  quack  remedies  usually  abide?  "  I 
took  of  the  pills  myself  and  broke  it  to  Dr.  Mason 
afterwards,  which  reminds  me  of  old  Dr.  Bigelow's  de- 
scription of  family  practice.  ' '  Miss  Tappan  sends  for 
me,"  he  says,  "  and  says,  '  Henry,  I  want  to  consult  you 
about  something.  Before  you  came,  I  took  a  dose  of 
medicine  which  Dr.  Sam  Cabot  advised  to  his  sister  for 
some  other  complaint.'  That  is  family  practice!  " 

Your  very  loving 

SNAP. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

[Jan.  24.] 
My  dearest  Gertrude 

We  are  all  so  bound  together  these  sacred  days  —  feel- 
ing the  same  grief  and  consolation  —  thinking  the  same 


Aet.  25  105 

great  thoughts  that  words  seem  cold  and  meaningless 
—  especially  written  words.  I  long  to  see  you.  We 
think  of  you  always. 

The  lily  you  sent  brought  its  message  of  Easter  hope 
in  the  midst  of  the  sorrow  —  Paulina  wants  me  to  give 
you  her  dearest  love  —  to  give  you  all. 

God  bless  and  comfort  you  and  help  us  all  to  be  wor- 
thy of  such  a  sorrow. 

Always  your  most  loving 

ALICE. 

48  Mount  Vernon  Street, 

Wednesday  Morning. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 
Friday,  February  9th. 
Dear  Bessie, 

So  you  are  a  householder  and  have  your  own  fireside 
with  a  companion  on  the  other  side  of  it  and  a  board  to 
welcome  your  own  friends  at  (the  last  part  of  which 
sentence  is  comprehensible,  I  hope,  however  awkward.) 
It  all  sounds  very  delightful,  and  I  hope  you  will  soon 
be  rested  enough  to  enjoy  it  in  the  present;  and  that 
the  tide  of  life  and  enjoyment  will  come  in  full  again, 
and  float  you  off  the  rocks  and  sands  where  we  all  lie 
stranded  so  long  sometimes  as  to  feel  them  insurmount- 
able. I  got  your  letter  Wednesday,  and  was  so  glad  to 
know  Miss  Ireland's  address  that  I  started  to  write  her 
at  once  but  was  too  ill  to  get  further  than  the  envelope. 
However,  the  inside  got  written  yesterday,  tho'  I  really 
had  nothing  to  say  as  an  excuse  to  sign  myself  hers  very 
affectionately.  I  have  thought  of  her  so  often  and  how 


106  1894 

pathetic  it  has  been  for  her  to  have  to  give  up  the  old 
school. 

Paulina  was  thinking  of  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Lodge  in 
Washington  this  week,  but  has  postponed  it  till  Easter 
time  as  I  was  too  ill  to  leave  at  the  time  and  our  dear 
" Hamlet"  lost.  We  got  him  back  Tuesday  after  five 
hideous  days  and  nights  —  $5.  spent  in  advertising  and 
$10.  reward  and  superhuman  efforts  on  the  part  of 
our  men  —  Uncle  Melly  absolutely  raiding  the  premises 
of  a  famous  dog  thief  with  a  sheriff  and  search  warrant. 
In  short  we  have  got  "  Hamlet  "  back  but  not  our  faith 
in  human  nature — being  so  versed  in  dog-thief  lore  that 
we  eye  our  best  friends  with  suspicion  especially  if  they 
affect  cloaks. 

I  have  two  school-teacher  jests  which  I  saved  up  to 
tell  you  and  must  tuck  in  before  I  end.  Barrett  Wendell 
says  "Honor  without  the  'u'  is  not  binding"  which 
puts  it  in  a  nutshell,  doesn't  it?  and  some  lady  gravely 
said  in  a  large  company  that  we  got  most  of  our  heat 
from  the  fixed  stars.  "I  think,"  said  Professor  Shaler, 
"  the  fixed  stars  would  wink  if  they  heard  us  say  so." 

Keep  a  stout  heart  and  believe  me 

Always  lovingly  yours, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Begun  Saturday,  Feb.  17. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

The  idea  has  suddenly  struck  me  that  a  journal  letter 
such  as  Meta  wrote  over  her  struggles  with  Norman's 


Aet.  25  107 

archidiaconal  hat  in  the  New  Zealand  wilds  would  be 
both  happy  and  appropriate;  and  as  the  festive  plumbers 
have  taken  possession  of  the  bathroom  since  eight  o'clock 
and  the  day  is  somewhat  long  in  consequence,  what  bet- 
ter time  could  be  desired  as  incident  is  not  necessary  to 
a  journal  letter  —  is,  in  fact,  quite  antagonistic  to  it. 
At  ten  last  night  we  "sprang  a  leak"  and  had  to  bail 
out  the  china  closet  like  the  hold  of  a  pirate  lugger  —  in 
fact  I  never  saw — or  rather  heard  so  violent  a  leak. 
It  was  like  a  domestic  Niagara  till  a  man  was  fetched  to 
turn  off  the  water,  and  then  proceeded  to  send  in  his  as- 
sistants upon  us,  who  leisurely  make  Ophelia's  graves 
for  themselves  in  our  only  dressing  room,  and  extricate 
bits  of  pipe  which  they  apostrophize  with —  "I  knew 
him  well  Horatio"  or  "Alas  poor  Yorick." 

Since  I  finished  my  letter  to  you  Thursday,  I  have 
done  nothing  more  noteworthy  than  to  be  iller  than 
usual  —  in  fact  yesterday  I  wasn't  good  for  anything 
but  to  lie  flat  and  groan  melodiously  at  intervals.  C'est 
passee  —  I  got  a  decent  night  and  can  hold  my  head  up 
again. 

YOUR  NANCY. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

March,  5th  and  6th. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

I  got  a  nice  long  letter  from  you  Saturday  just  when  I 
needed  cheering  after  Paulina's  departure  to  Washington 
for  ten  days.  She  went  under  Anna  Amory's  escort,  and 
had  two  or  three  days  of  Constance  and  is  having  a  per- 
fectly delightful  time  as  she  always  does  with  Mrs.  Lodge. 


108  1894 

We  have  long  enthusiastic  letters  every  morning,  full 
of  all  she  has  been  doing  and  seeing,  which  makes  the  life 
at  "48"  seem  more  quiet  and  uneventful  than  ever. 
Elinor  and  Ellen  Hooper  have  been  sharing  the  nursing 
between  them,  during  mamma's  so-called  "dashes  "  into 
the  marts;  and  I  have  had  another  stance  with  the  den- 
tist and  triumphantly  finished  that  business  for  the  year. 
The  birds  and  "Hamlet"  are  thriving,  so  my  small  world 
wags  on  smoothly  enough.  Don't  you  think  a  journal 
such  as  Helen  Fotheringham  wrote,  with  "  the  sparrows 
picking  up  tiny  crumbs  of  bread  upon  the  roof  this 
morning  made  me  understand  all  the  healing  in  a  young 
child's  penitence,"  would  employ  my  time  usefully  and 
possibly  have  a  great  effect  on  some  more  active  life? 
but  this  is  French  "irreverence;  "  —  P.,  Mamma  and  I 
were  simply  gloating  over  "Heartsease"  before  P.  went 
and  miss  it  sorely  of  an  evening.  Poor  little  Ethel  is 
housed  with  a  cold  which  is  on  the  mend,  tho'  she  takes 
rather  the  Mr.  Charles  Perkins'  stand,  who  after  one  day 
and  two  nights  abed,  bade  them  pull  up  the  shades  that 
he  might  see  the  trees  and  added  gloomily,  ' '  It  looks  as 
it  did  when  I  used  to  go  out  "  —  but  tho'  Ethel  can't 
come  Mrs.  Paine  is  most  devoted.  Apropos  of  the 
Paines,  I  must  tell  you  about  a  remark  of  their  ex- 
butler  who  is  now  one  of  the  men  at  the  Art  Museum. 
"  Miss  Ethel  you  have  not  been  to  see  the  Zorn  pictures 
yet.  They  are  broad  in  treatment  but  very  fine.  I  am 
not  sure  tho'  but  the  breadth  of  treatment  would  pre- 
vent your  really  liking  them.  —  "  It  was  Ethel  too  who 
saw  some  time  since  a  placard  on  the  "People's  Church  " 
with  ' '  Wanted  —  500  men  and  women  to  make  into 
celestial  Kings  and  Queens  "  which  reminds  me  of  Father 
Bodfish's  reply  to  somebody  who  was  explaining  the 


Aet.  25  109 

High-church  theory  that  the  Anglican  was  the  real 
branch,  the  Romish  a  mere  offshoot.  ' '  Like  saying  one's 
coat  is  an  offshoot  of  a  button." 

Paulina  came  home  full  of  anecdotes  after  dining  with 
Mr.  James,  who  had  just  been  reading  a  work  on  "  Neu- 
rasthenia "  which  ended,  he  said,  with  a  national  pean, 
"No  people  have  such  highly-strung  nerves  as  the 
American  people!  No  nation  takes  so  much  medicine 
nor  of  such  good  quality!  "  And  Mrs.  James  said  good 
health  was  a  disgrace  no  one  in  the  country  would  con- 
fess to.  One  of  her  servants  in  the  Adirondacks  reluc- 
tantly admitted  that  the  other  one  was  delicate,  ' '  Yes 
she  has  consumption  but, "  rallying,  "I  have  fits."  A 
cousin  of  Mrs.  James  and  her  husband  did  not  agree  and 
lived  mostly  apart.  One  day  he  came  home  and  told 
his  wife  he  was  going  to  the  hospital  to  have  an  opera- 
tion performed.  She  said  firmly  '  <  No,  come  here.  What 
is  the  meaning  of  the  word  '  home '  if  it  isn't  a  place  to 
have  a  surgical  operation?  "  Isn't  that  a  sweet  defini- 
tion ?  One  more  I  must  tell  you  —  a  matrimonial  bureau 
advertisement  which  Mr.  James  saw,  "  A  blind  gentle- 
man without  means  wishes  to  find  a  partner,  to  whom 
the  sense  that  she  was  benefiting  another  life  would 
compensate  for  the  lack  of  the  ordinary  inducements!  " 

Always  your  loving 

ALICIA. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Tuesday,  March  13th. 
Dearest  Elizabeth, 

You  mustn't  think  the  long  spaces  between  my  epis- 
tles these  days  voluntary,  but  an  invalid's  time,  as  you 


110  1894 

know,  is  not  its  own;  and  for  the  last  week  I  have  been 
rather  feeble  to  a  fault,  receiving  callers  or  resting  for 
a  small  gaiety  of  Paulina's  which  came  off  successfully 
last  night. 

Ever  since  the  Almanac  made  a  mistake  and  gave  us 
May  instead  of  March,  the  South  and  California  have 
seemed  unnecessary  frills.  Here  we  all  are  revelling  in 
sunny  day  after  sunny  day  with  cloudless  skies  and  soft 
south  winds  —  the  thermometer  varying  from  50  de- 
grees to  65  degrees  —  the  crocuses  out  on  Beacon  Street 
and  all  sorts  of  plants  blooming  in  the  windows  of  48, 
one  pair  back.  "The  Judge"  and  "Valentina"  are 
talking  in  low  voices  over  their  canton-flannel  nest;  and 
"Hamlet"  follows  a  jacketless  aunt  about  the  streets 
with  his  tongue  lolling  out  in  a  most  ostentatious  man- 
ner. Apropos  of  Hamlet,  Paulina  has  just  got  a  sub- 
scription for  the  "  Zenana  Band  "  from  a  young  lady  in 
a  Boston  suburb  romantically  called  "Glen  Elsinore." 
—  Doesn't  it  sound  haunted,  and  I  wonder  if  the  people 
of  those  districts  have  the  face  to  address  their  family 
ghosts  as  "Old  Truepenny"?  The  spring  would  be 
even  more  enjoyable  if  mice  hadn't  seen  fit  to  die  pro- 
fusely in  our  walls  —  in  fact  it  has  gone  so  far  that  our 
closet,  as  I  tell  Paulina,  might  aptly  be  spoken  of  as  a 
"Mouseoleum  grand." 

Did  I  tell  you  that  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  was  to  have 
the  good  fortune  to  bear  17  Cabots  across  the  ocean? 
and  the  time  draws  very  near,  alas!  —  Mrs.  Dexter  is 
going  to  make  me  her  last  call  this  morning,  and  I  feel 
as  blue  as  my  own  dressing  jacket. 


Aet.  25  111 

Poor  mamma  is  abed  with  one  of  her  headaches,  but 
it  is  on  the  mend  I  am  glad  to  say.  We  always  regard 
her  giving  out  as  a  bitter  personal  affront.  I  must  tell 
you  one  of  her  happy  similes  —  you  know  she  believes 
that  if  a  simile  is  good  at  all,  it  is  good  for  everything. 
She  told  me  if  I  wore  a  white  sailor  hat  in  May  I  should 
look  like  a  "  stripped  darkie"  and  refused  to  withdraw 
it,  tho'  I  pointed  out  that  the  more  a  colored  gentleman 
took  off  the  blacker  he  must  get.  Speaking  of  gentle- 
men, Mr.  Harry  Lee  wanting  to  descend  into  his  vaults, 
found  the  stairs  blocked  by  a  large  woman  engaged  in 
conversation  with  the  boy  who  swept  out  the  office. 
He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  as  a  hint  to  let  him 
pass,  whereupon  she  turned  and  said  with  great  dig- 
nity, "  My  good  man!  I  wish  to  talk  with  this  young 
gentleman." 

The  rest  of  my  feeble  anecdotes  can  wait  till  next 

time. 

Always  your  most  loving 

"  NANCY." 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

[Mar.  15.] 
(To  be  read  at  your  leisure) 

Wednesday  Evening. 

Paulina  and  I  are  sitting  all  alone  over  a  meagre  tea 
tray  with  a  laid  up  mother  and  neglectful  friends.  It 
seems  a  happy  moment  to  begin  a  cheerful  steamer- 
letter  to  you.  Ever  since  you  went  our  spirits  have 
been  about  as  blue  as  that  new  Mikado  wrapper  Paulina 
has  just  finished.  We  mean  to  brace  up  and  bear  it 
better  once  you  are  really  started  and  can  think  of  your 
return  as  the  real  thing.  Five  whole  months  is  really 


112  1894 

short,  tho'  I  must  own  it  doesn't  seem  so  till  they're 
over  —  which  is  a  consolation  of  the  Mrs.  Squeers  order. 
I  had  a  sort  of  feeling  when  you  kissed  me  good-bye 
this  morning,  that  you  didn't  mean  to  get  up  again  and 
I'm  not  sure  but  it  will  be  as  well.  Saying  good-bye  is 
a  great  mistake  and  I'm  not  going  to  write  it  either. 
When  you  come  back  rested  and  cheerful,  with  the  most 
optimistic  views  of  life  in  general  and  Congress  in  par- 
ticular, and  with  powers  of  intense  mental  application 
to  find  this  family  sporting  like  kids  on  the  Manchester 
hillsides,  how  childish  these  tears  and  anxieties  will  ap- 
pear. —  Every  one  you  love  will  keep  well  for  your 
sake,  and  besides  when  people  really  love  each  other  it 
takes  more  than  oceans  and  mountains  to  part  them. — 
Dear,  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  I  won't  say  how  much  I  shall 
miss  you  but  you  know  how  often  you  will  be  in  my 
thoughts  and  that  when  you've  had  a  good  time  I  shall 
have  had  it  too  —  I  shall  see  Rome  with  your  eyes  and 
no  journey  to  make  either. 

Thursday. 

Mrs.  Paine  came  in  while  I  was  writing  and  now  this 
bright  sunny  morning  throws  sunshine  on  things  gen- 
erally. Our  dear  old  roof -tree  —  under  which  pictur- 
esque simile  you  are  to  recognize  our  "shingley  "  mother 
—  has  had  a  good  night  and  feels  about  well.  Paulina's 
voice  has  returned  and  I  continue  to  feel  —  as  that  man 
of  Mrs.  Whitman's  used  to  say  in  answer  to  inquiries 
about  his  consumptive  wife —  "rugged." 

Mamma  and  I  have  just  finished  Carlyle's  "  Life  of 
Sterling  "  —  some  of  it  is  most  beautiful,  isn't  it?  and 
all  of  it  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  as  much  from  Carlyle's 
tenderness  as  from  Sterling's  charm  and  sunny  courage 


Aet.  25  113 

under  the  most  adverse  circumstances.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  Carlyle  speaks  of  him  as  taking  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  his  lot  with  true  simplicity  and  acquiescence, 
"Like  a  true  son,  not  a  rebel  but  a  son;  willing  to  suf- 
fer when  Heaven  said,  Thou  shalt,  and  withal,  what  is 
rarer,  willing  to  rejoice  also  and  right  cheerily  taking  the 
good  that  was  sent  whensoever  or  in  whatever  form  it 
came.  And  so  he  played  his  part  and  sleeps  now  bright, 
ever-young  in  the  memory  of  others  who  must  grow  old 
and  was  honorably  released  from  his  toils  before  the 
hottest  of  the  day  —  "  It  is  nice  to  get  back  into  the 
very  centre  of  ' '  our  set "  too,  for  didn't  he  and  Maurice 
marry  sisters?  and  wasn't  he  Julius  Hare's  curate;  and 
didn't  he  stay  with  the  Foxes  at  Falmouth  and  know 
Caroline,  whose  journal  you  lent  me,  and  visit  Torquay 
and  Marcus  and  Luce  Hare  (Uncle  Melly's  dishevelled 
favorite)  who  was  born  a  Stanley  of  Alderly  and  a 
cousin  of  the  Dean's? 

My  arm  is  getting  tired  and  my  handwriting  more 
and  more  illegible  but  you  won't  mistake  my  signature 
for  "  Lunz  "  will  you? 

"  Courage,  mon  ami,  le  diable  n'est  pas  mort,"  is  bet- 
ter indeed,  and  always  and  always 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

Saturday,  March  17. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

I  don't  want  your  Easter  to  go  by  without  a  word 
from  me,  tho'  on  that  day  of  all  days  spoken  words 


114:  1894 

seem  unnecessary,  when  all  those  that  love  one  another, 
whether  parted  by  distance  or  death  seem  bound  so 
closely  together  and  sometimes  —  oftenest  I  think  — 
distance  seems  the  greater  barrier.  Anna  Amory  came 
to  call  Wednesday,  so  I  have  heard  of  you  since  you  got 
back  to  Santa  Barbara  and  found  the  sad  news  that  was 
waiting  for  you  there  —  I  have  pitied  Elise  so  much  for 
not  having  you  to  turn  to  and  you  too  for  being  at  a  dis- 
tance and  helpless  to  go  to  her  —  I  hear  of  her  fre- 
quently from  one  source  and  another,  and  had  a  card 
from  her  the  other  day  thanking  me  for  a  few  violets 
which  are  easier  both  to  send  and  receive  than  words 
between  strangers. 

Mrs.  Dexter  sails  this  morning,  having  parted  from 
us  all  with  the  most  forced  and  lugubrious  cheerful- 
ness. It  is  hard  to  say  goodbye  for  so  long  a  time 
from  so  intimate  a  friend,  whom  we  all  turn  to  in  time 
of  stress  as  nurse,  companion  and  confidante,  and  whom 
we  had  grown  used  to  having  always  at  our  beck  and 
call. 

Paulina  is  just  getting  over  a  voiceless  cold  and 
mamma  is  just  out  of  bed  from  what  turned  out  to 
be  an  attack  of  ' '  Shingles. "  We  tell  her  if  she  were 
Margaret  May  she  would  be  consoled,  reproved  and  com- 
forted under  this  especial  affliction  by  quoting  your 
favorite  lines  from  Keble,  ' '  Is  this  a  time  to  add  roof 
to  roof?"  Here  is  Mrs.  Templeman  Coolidge  to  see 

me  and  so, 

With  lots  of  love, 

I  am  as  always, 

Your  devoted  A.  W.  S. 


Aet.  25  115 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

[Mar.  26.] 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

The  lilies-of-the- valley  are  as  dear  as  they  can  be  — 
there's  no  flower  I  love  better  —  and  I  had  half -hopes 
that  you  would  come  in  yesterday  to  let  me  thank  you 
and  to  finish  that  interrupted  call  of  yours.  Now 
Paulina  tells  me  you  are  going  to  Waltham  for  four  or 
five  days,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  go  without  hoping 
that  Easter  has  brought  you  all  the  deep  happiness  that 
I  am  sure  it  has.  It  was  such  a  comfort  to  be  able  to 
go  to  the  Early  Communion  yesterday.  That  service 
and  the  church  and  the  whole  day  seem  so  full  of  Mr. 
Brooks  —  not  full  of  sad  memories  but  of  his  actual  pres- 
ence among  us  all,  bringing,  as  it  always  did,  strength 
to  go  on  and  inspiration  and  hope.  On  Easter  the  veil 
that  divides  us  from  those  who  have  gone  before  seems 
to  be  rent  in  the  midst,  and  we  too  join  our  voices  in  a 
hymn  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  with  the  choir  in- 
visible. And  how  close  we  his  people  stand  together,  I 
think  we  feel  on  these  great  days. 

Always  lovingly, 

ALICE. 
Easter  Monday. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

Wednesday  Evening. 
Dear  Bessie, 

It  was  nice  to  get  your  Easter  letter,  and  I  should  have 
answered  it  before,  but  this  last  week  I  have  indulged 
in  two  seances  of  the  dentist  (isn't  it  luxurious  having 
one's  dentist  attend  one  in  one's  own  boudoir?)  and  that 


116  1894 

with  constant  visits  from  Dr.  Mason  before  and  after  — 
to  see  how  I  was  going  to  bear  it  and  how  I  had  borne 
it  —  has  rather  limited  my  already  short  note- writing 
time.  Then  Saturday  Paulina  went  on  to  Washington 
to  visit  Mrs.  Lodge,  and  I  entertained  friends  at  all  hours, 
sometimes  as  mere  callers  and  sometimes  as  deputy- 
nurses.  So  much  for  excuses,  and  now  for  news!  By 
the  way  you  must  tell  me  about  yourself  and  your  plans 
when  you  write.  Bessie  Foster  already  begins  to  talk 
vaguely  of  coming  East,  and  seems  a  great  deal  stronger. 
When  she  wrote  last  she  had  just  taken  a  three  days' 
driving  journey — 96  miles  over  the  mountains,  stop- 
ping every  now  and  then  to  fire  pistols  which  sounds 
like  "  Le  roi  du  montagne,"  rather  than  an  outing  of  a 
young  female  invalid.  My  other  "  sicks  "  are  also  look- 
ing up. 

Mrs.  Templeman  Coolidge  told  me  of  a  Lowell  lecture 
Mr.  Poulton  gave  on  "  the  Courtship  of  Spiders."  It 
appears  that  the  Lady-spider  proposes  to  the  male  who 
is  much  smaller  and  only  anxious  to  please  —  indeed 
unless  he  can  succeed  in  attracting  he  is  gobbled  forth- 
with. Isn't  this  quite  a  strong-minded  woman's  utopia? 

Excuse  the  scrappiness  of  this  letter  but  my  existence 
runs  between  narrow  channels  with  few  external  events 
to  mark  the  days  —  especially  when  Paulina  is  away. 
She  is  having  a  lovely  time  and  will  bring  home  facts 
enough  to  last  us  all  summer  —  a  season  which  begins 
for  us  dreadfully  soon  —  in  less  than  a  month.  I  am 
on  the  whole  stronger,  but  well  or  ill  am  always 

Affectionately  your  friend, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  25  117 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

Thursday,  April  12. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  have  just  received  such  a  lovely  brocade  portfolio 
from  Mrs.  Lodge,  that  I  am  tempted  to  begin  my  letter 
to  you  today,  tho'  somewhat  feeble  after  last  night  —  or 
rather  last  evening's  anxieties  —  Paulina  stayed  an  ex- 
tra day  in  Washington  to  hear  Mr.  Lodge  speak  on  the 
Tariff,  which  necessitated  her  coming  home  unescorted, 
and  we  expected  her  to  reach  Boston  at  8.30  (which 
was  quite  late  enough) ;  but  a  timely  Nor' Wester  with  a 
furious  gale  and  heavy  snow  preceded  her  —  making 
the  Sound  rough  and  blowing  telegraph  poles  across 
the  track,  so  that  it  was  half-past  twelve  before  she 
drove  up  to  our  great  joy  and  relief.  Uncle  Melly 
spent  his  time  plying  between  home  and  the  station, 
and  luckily  the  railway  officials  knew  the  cause  of  the 
delay  and  expected  her  to  be  even  later  than  she  was,  or 
we  should  have  been  quite  wild  as  her  telegram  didn't 
get  here  till  breakfast  time.  Mamma  had  fears  lest  I 
was  about  to  expire  at  the  inopportune  moment  when 
she  had  come  and  the  anxiety  was  over  —  but  I  came 
to  instead  and  spent  the  night  waking  up  to  be  sure  I 
had  got  her  back.  She  was  almost  as  used  up,  poor 
dear,  with  anxiety  as  to  what  the  effect  would  be  on 
me;  and  today  we  have  sat  round  listening  to  all  her 
new  political  facts  and  interests  and  all  she  has  seen 
and  heard,  with  Dickson  presently  to  hear  what  there 
was  to  be  heard!  It's  enough  to  afford  this  family 
topics  for  many  weeks  to  come,  but  I'm  afraid  we  don't 
take  her  political  anecdotes  as  much  au  serieux  as  Mark 


118  1894 

Tapley  could  wish.  Mr.  Chanler  said  about  "  the  Wil- 
son bill  for  turning  states  republican"  that  "these 
Southerners  wouldn't  know  an  American  Industry  if 
they  met  it  in  the  street;"  and  what  do  you  think  they 
literally  introduced  under  the  head  of  ' '  Wearing  Ap- 
parel"? "Hydraulic  Hose!!  "  —  don't  you  think  that 
is  delightful? 

I  have  had  so  many  amateur  nurses  since  Paulina 
has  been  gone  that  she  says  she  has  never  enjoyed  such 
elegant  leisure,  and  strolls  out  to  spend  an  hour  or  so 
with  Hunt's  pictures  at  the  "  St.  Botolph,"  quite  as  if 
she  had  not  been  for  years  tied  by  the  leg  to  a  bed  post. 
—  Elinor  has  read  to  me  by  the  hour  together,  and  Ellen 
Hooper  has  lain  down  beside  me  on  the  bed  and  just 
rested  me  by  being  there,  and  Mrs.  Paine  has  guarded 
me  off-days,  and  Ethel  and  Mrs.  Higginson  and  Miss 
Lowell  have  brightened  me  up.  Indeed,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  a  slight  squabbling  among  my  nurses,  and  an 
inclination  to  drop  notes  and  insist  that  the  next  day 
was  theirs  by  rights,  I  should  have  had  a  most  restful 
time.  However,  popularity,  tho'  it  has  some  drawbacks, 
is  very  flattering. 

By  the  way,  what  a  long,  long  way  you  are  off  as  far 
as  the  ordinary  post  is  concerned.  A  whole  month  be- 
fore one  can  get  an  answer  to  a  note.  It  feels,  as  Dr. 
Holmes  said  about  talking  into  an  ear-trumpet,  "like 
dropping  sixpence  into  the  bank  of  England,"  to  tell 
you  how  many  times  "  Valentina"  coughed  and  whether 
"  the  Judge  "  lost  a  tail-feather.  And  by  the  way  that 
reminds  me  that  St.  Gaudens'  design  for  an  eagle  was 
refused  by  the  Naval  Department  "because  it  looked 


Aet.  25  119 

like  a  plucked  turkey!  "     I  suppose  it  did  not  have 
enough  feather-trowser  to   suit   the   propriety  of  the 
Great  American  People? 
Mamma  and  Paulina  send  a  great  deal  of  love  and  I 

am,  as  always, 

Your  very  affectionate 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

[May  1.] 

"  OLD  HOMESTEAD," 
MANCHESTER, 

Monday  Afternoon. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

This  note  is  not  written  "Just  off  Somerville,"  as 
Paulina  suggested,  only  because  pen  and  ink  were  not 
forthcoming  at  that  juncture,  tho'  I'm  sure  we  all  looked 
fitted  for  the  part,  with  each  one  clasping  a  bird-cage  and 
our  insane  Julia  attempting  to  carry  an  active  cat,  in  an 
uncovered  basket  with  a  sheet  over  her  body  and  a  com- 
plicated cat's  cradle  made  out  of  twine  over  her  head. 
However,  even  the  cat  got  here  safely,  and  "The  Pup " 
has  just  turned  up  with  his  Uncle,  who  has  been  devot- 
ing the  day  to  him. 

Did  you  ever  see  such  weather  to  move  in?  and  the 
country  just  beginning  to  look  so  beautiful?  When  we 
got  out  at  our  dear  station  and  saw  the  sea,  and  smelt 
the  smell  of  warm  pines  and  growing  things,  we  really 
did  find  it  "thrilling;"  and  the  house  with  everything 
just  as  it  was,  and  Mrs.  Edward  Kelly  standing  at  the 
door  to  welcome  us  seemed  quite  homelike. 

I  came  beautifully  without  a  start  or  a  tremor  and 
think  of  taking  out  a  new  lease  of  life.  It  was  nice  see- 


120  1894 

ing  Ethel  for  even  those  few  minutes  yesterday,  and  I 
only  wish  you  were  going  to  lunch  with  us  —  say  to- 
morrow. 

Always  most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

WEST  MANCHESTER, 

Saturday,  May  5. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Here  I  am  comfortably  settled  in  my  dear  old  room, 
with  the  birds  on  the  bed  beside  me,  and  mamma  knit- 
ting before  a  big  wood-fire  and  consoling  "  Hamlet "  for 
the  departure  of  his  Aunt  Paulina,  who  spends  her  Sun- 
days thro'  May  in  town,  so  as  to  go  on  with  her  favorite 
Sunday  School  class  at  St.  Andrew's. 

We  moved  down  on  Monday,  and  if  it  were  not  for 
the  leafless  branches  thro'  which  I  see  my  line  of  sea 
and  sky,  I  could  fancy  the  winter  a  dream.  Beautiful 
as  summer  is,  and  especially  spring  time  in  these  woods, 
one  feels  sad  to  have  the  realest  season  over  —  the 
months  that  one  spends  at  home  close  to  the  warm  heart 
of  every  thing  —  slip  by  so  fast  and  leave  no  mark.  I 
suppose  the  purposeless  lives  are  the  sad  ones,  when  one 
is  driven  from  each  past,  not  called  out  of  it  by  a  goal 
that  makes  a  beacon  in  the  future  and  the  way  before 
one  with  the  way  behind.  After  all  no  life  is  without 
its  goal,  however  dim,  and  we  are  all  "  saved  by  hope  " 
from  the  least  to  the  greatest.  I  don't  know  why  I  get 
involved  in  so  gloomy  a  sentence,  except  that  I  feel  more, 
now  that  I  am  stronger,  the  need  of  a  life-work.  Every- 
thing is  so  simple  and  easy  when  one  is  very  ill  and 
lives  just  from  day  to  day.  I  must  tell  you,  by  the  way, 


Aet.  25  121 

how  Samson-like  I  am  becoming—  how  I  moved  down 
by  train,  and  come  downstairs  once  a  day  here  and  sun 
myself  under  the  pine-trees  before  the  door.  By  and 
bye,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  get  out  to  drive  so  as  to  get  up 
my  strength  before  the  heats  begin  —  which  reminds 
me  that  on  Wednesday  the  thermometer  ran  up  to  90 
degrees  in  the  shade  just  to  show  its  Emersonian  indif- 
ference to  surroundings. 

Affectionately, 

A.  W.  S. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

[May  7]  Monday. 
My  own  Tweeby, 

This  is  a  blow!  Of  course  you  have  sent  for  Dr.  Mason 
and  do  ask  him  if  you  can't  come  home?  safely  to  your- 
self I  mean?  As  for  my  catching  it,  the  mumps  in  your 
company  is  better  than  health  with  you  gone  —  and  we 
could  play  "Napoleon"  all  day  and  make  faces  when 
we  wanted  to  laugh  —  a  thing  one  always  wants  to  do 
if  ones  cheeks  are  swelled  or  if  it  gives  one  a  ' '  conde- 
scending stitch  in  one's  side." 

If  the  doctor  thinks  you  might  catch  cold  coming  down 
and  thinks  you  better  off  where  you  are,  how  long  will 
it  be?  "Oh  agony!  "  said  "Toddles."  Perhaps,  happy 
thought,  its  only  wisdom  teeth  throwing  up  breast  works, 
to  prevent  the  world's  observing  what  tiny  fellows  they're 
going  to  be!  Never  will  you  be  permitted  to  leave  these 

arms  again. 

Your  nearly  distraught 

NANNY.  — 
Do  take  care  of  yourself  and  don't  catch  cold  else  this 


122  1894 

some  time  invalid  will  be  coming  up  to  take  care  of  you. 
—  Love  to  Elinor  and  Bella  and  all  it  may  concern. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Wednesday,  May  9. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Mamma  told  you  how  well  we  accomplished  the  move, 
and  how  active  I  have  become,  and  indeed  you  needn't 
pity  us  for  being  here.  It  is  perfectly  beautiful  and  the 
weather  is  like  an  ideal  June!  We  see  as  many  people 
as  we  can  really  enjoy,  and  rest  after  the  rush  of  that 
last  week  in  town  which,  for  me,  was  almost  too  gay. 
I  wrote  Wednesday,  didn't  I?  just  before  Helen  came 
with  little  Jack  —  whom  it  was  nice  to  see  so  well 
and  rosy  —  growing  up  into  shyness  too.  Then  Ellen 
Hooper  spent  two  more  ' '  last  nights  "  with  us,  and  I 
had  two  calls  from  Mrs.  Whitman  and  several  from 
Mrs.  Paine  and  Ethel  —  and  Anstiss  brought  in  ' '  little 
Robert "  to  say  good-bye,  and  Elinor  came  two  or  three 
times  and  Gertrude  Brooks  and  Mrs.  Luce  and  Dr. 
Mason.  Then  Friday  afternoon,  we  had  a  perfectly  de- 
lightful hour  of  Mr.  John  E.  Russell,  who  gets  to  see  us 
about  once  a  year  and  is  always  full  of  delightful  talk 
and  new  anecdotes.  Do  you  know  him  at  all,  I  wonder? 
He  is  a  dear.  "  That  child  of  genius,"  Judge  Hoar  calls 
him,  — and  he  is  so  genial  and  affectionate.  You  can't 
help  seeing  how  much  he  likes  you,  and  he  has  that 
courtly  old  fashioned  manner  which  I  always  had  the 
weakness  to  prefer  to  Cabot  "sincerity!  " 

Always  affectionately, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  25  123 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

MANCHESTER, 

Tuesday  Morning  [May  11]. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

Here  I  lie  on  my  sofa  with  my  wood-fire  on  one  side 
aad  my  view  of  ocean  and  fields  framed  in  pine  trees 
on  the  other,  and  all  my  possessions  in  their  old  places 
so  that  I  feel  as  if  the  winter  had  been  a  dream  —  as  if 
we  had  fallen  asleep  with  the  trees  turning  crimson  and 
gold,  and  waked  after  a  long  nap,  to  find  them  putting 
on  their  pale  greens  again.  You  never  saw  anything 
lovelier  than  it  was  when  we  got  here,  with  violets  and 
strawberry  blossoms  along  the  roadsides  and  the  sea 
pale  violet  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  shy  wild  birds  call- 
ing to  each  other  in  the  orchards.  —  I  only  hope  it  will 
be  as  lovely  a  day  when  you  come  to  us,  by  the  10.45 
train  a  week  from  Thursday  to  stay  two  nights,  remem- 
ber! By  the  way  I  meant  to  tell  you  that  I  bore  the 
journey  beautifully  and  was  quite  reluctant  to  retire 
upstairs  to  my  bed. 


Affectionately, 

ALICE. 


To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Monday,  May  14. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

I  suppose  by  this  time  your  foot  is  upon  your  native 
heath  —  that  is,  if  you  haven't  been  stopped  on  your 


124  1894 

journey  as  a  suspicious  looking  character  armed  with 
explosives. 

It's  awfully  nice  to  think  of  the  long  winter  and  exile 
being  over  for  you,  and  to  have  you  back  again.  You 
must  let  us  know  your  plans,  won't  you?  I  suppose 
you  won't  come  to  Boston  before  June,  will  you  —  but 
when  you  do,  and  when  you  feel  like  wasting  two  or 
three  days  in  the  pine  forests  of  Manchester,  you  must 
write  and  set  your  time.  Won't  Paulina  and  I  be  glad 
to  see  you  —  to  say  nothing  of  Hamlet  the  Dane? 

We  came  down  comfortably  a  fortnight  ago,  and 
found  the  "  Old  Homestead  "  looking  as  if  we  had  never 
left  it.  We  invented  a  new  name  for  it  the  other  day  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Nortons  if  they  should  have  occasion 
to  visit  us,  "Feme  Hawes!  "  Hasn't  that  a  Chaucerian 
and  Voltairian  flavor  to  the  ears  of  the  erudite?  and 
doesn't  it  sound  woody  and  mean  distant  shrines?  You 
will  find  me  a  reformed  character  when  you  come.  I 
go  down  to  luncheon  every  day  and  sit  out  on  the  rocks 
and  the  pine-needles  and  bask  in  this  ideal  weather  — 
13  perfect  days  out  of  the  14  we  have  had  —  not  the 
most  depraved  "  malade  imaginaire"  could  be  bed  rid- 
den with  the  sky  and  the  sea  so  blue  and  the  trees 
changing  into  pale  greens  and  reds  and  yellows  under 
your  very  eyes.  The  anemones  were  just  opening  when 
we  came,  and  now  we  have  got  thro'  violets  and  straw- 
berry blossoms  as  far  as  columbines — but  these  I  believe 
you  prefer  of  the  foot-light  variety. 

Lots  of  love, 
Your 
ALICIA. 


Aet.  25  125 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[May  31.] 

MANCHESTER,  Thursday. 
My  own  dearest  Ethel, 

I  haven't  ceased  to  curse  and  bewail  my  bad  fortune 
in  having  to  miss  your  visit  and  for  such  a  mere  "error  " 
as  the  mumps.  You  and  Mrs.  Paine  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  it  stuck  to  the  singular,  and  yesterday  afternoon 
began  to  show  signs  of  slightly  decreasing. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  me  Tuesday  and  Wed- 
nesday! I  had  "the  largest  cheek  for  an  unmarried 
woman"  and  had  boiling  water-bags  to  clap  to  my 
cheek  even  after  a  swallow  of  tepid  beef  tea,  which 
brought  on  a  pain  like  fifty  tooth-aches  and  made  me 
think  Dr.  Tanner  rather  a  reasonable  man. 

Ellen  writes  that  Dr.  Wyman  has  finally  acknowl- 
edged her  puffed-up  face  to  be  nothing  more  abstruse 
than  the  common  or  garden  mump,  but  I  suppose  by 
this  time  she  must  have  given  it  to  her  family  and 
friends  —  or  such  of  them  as  are  in  a  condition  to  take 
it.  Doctors  are  strange  folk.  Mine  writes  in  great  dis- 
tress to  tell  me  nothing  can  be  done  but  what  I  am 
doing.  That  they  have  to  take  their  course  and  that 
if  the  other  side  is  involved,  it  is  a  matter  of  ten  days, 
with  a  week  more  when  I  am  still  infectious.  A  small 
family's  having  it  would  take  all  summer  and  summarily 

check  the  social  instinct. 

Your  very  loving 

ALICE. 


126  1894 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

"THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD," 
MANCHESTER,  June  3rd. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

This  is  such  a  beautiful  Sunday  morning  that  I  am 
going  to  begin  a  letter  to  you  rather  than  wait  till  to- 
morrow, which  is  my  regular  day.  I  had  your  first 
letter  from  Venice  Friday  and  was  so  glad  to  hear  that 
you  had  given  up  thinking  of  past  or  future  and  were 
just  letting  yourself  float  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
Did  you  ever  read  Le  Gallienne's  ' '  Religion  of  a  Lit- 
erary Man "  ?  some  parts  of  it  are  quite  nice,  and  I 
thought  of  Mark  Tapley  often  while  reading  the  chap- 
ter on  "  What  is  pain,"  in  which  he  talks  much  of  "  the 
sentimental  observer  —  the  abnormally  sensitive  person 
who  always  thinks  of  pain  and  misery  in  the  bulk,  as 
one  murmurs  'Poor  Manchester  people,'  when  one  sees 
Manchester  on  a  map  of  yearly  rain  falls,  and  pictures 
it  always  raining  there  and  all  the  world  out  in  it,  and 
without  umbrellas.  Rheumatism  can  be  neither  good 
nor  bad  in  itself  —  if  it  makes  a  man  patient,  it  is  rela- 
tively a  blessing  and  why  in  this  world  isn't  the  tes- 
timony of  the  brave  at  least  as  good  as  that  of  the 
cowards,"  etc.,  with  quotations  from  James  Hinton, 
Browning  and  Meredith  to  back  him —  It  was  quite 
bracing!  Apropos  of  aches  and  pains,  I  came  down 
with  the  mumps  or  rather  with  the  "mump"  last 
Sunday,  and  am  still  an  uncanny  enough  sight,  with 
one  cheek  puffed  up  like  a  human  popover,  but  the 
worst  is  over  and  I  can  now  swallow  liquid  food  with- 
out anguish.  Wouldn't  you  have  thought  any  form  of 
lockjaw  was  "a  disease  with  which  even  Providence 


Aet.  25  127 

could  not  inflict  me  — "  as  Bright  said  apropos  of  brain 
fever's  attacking  that  inane  young  nobleman  who  said 
his  had  been  a  direct  judgment  from  Heaven —  The 
worst  is  I  can't  see  any  one  for  at  least  ten  days  more 
and  have  had  to  put  off  Bessie  Foster,  who  was  coming 
next  week — Constance  etc.  etc.  Paulina  brought  Ethel 
home  Monday  to  pass  a  night  —  not  knowing  —  but  I 
could  only  grin  at  her  thro'  the  glass  of  my  piazza  door. 
Ellen  Hooper  came  down  with  them  herself  the  same 
day  so  that  the  telegram  we  sent  to  bid  her  beware  was 
unnecessary.  Our  greatest  privation,  however,  is  in  be- 
ing cut  off  from  the  Bells  and  Pratts,  whom  we  were 
beginning  to  see  so  much  of — almost  daily  in  some  way 
or  other  some  parts  of  the  two  households  met,  and  ex- 
changed books  and  anecdotes,  reduced  now,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  to  an  interchange  of  books  and  notes. 
Mrs.  Bell  made  me  a  long  two-hour  call  one  day  before 
the  mumps,  and  was  coming  the  very  day  I  came  down 
with  them.  Mrs.  Pratt  came  in  between  and  since 
then  of  course  I  have  missed  them.  I  never  saw  Mrs. 
Bell  gayer  or  more  charming  and  we  found  her  as  rabid 
on  the  subject  of  "our  set,"  Hares,  Stanleys,  Maurice, 
Kebles,  Kingsleys,  etc.,  as  we  could  desire.  She  says 
just  to  read  in  Boyd  that  Tullock  speaks  Monday  and 
Stanley  Wednesday  makes  her  hair  stand  on  end  with 
pleasure — and  that  when  people  say  of  some  famous 
churchman,  ' '  Do  you  mean  that  funny  little  man  who 
crossed  himself  and  wore  a  queer  hat?"  she  responds 
with  dignity,  "I  mean  one  of  the  greatest  thinkers  of 
the  age."  We  lent  her  Maurice's  "St.  John"  and  the 
"Life  of  Kingsley"  which  were  both  new  to  her  and 
then  proceeded  to  gloat  with  her  over  this  lovely  new 


128  1894 

1  'Life  of  Stanley"  in  two  fat  volumes  of  which  she  says 
she  wouldn't  miss  the  dot  of  an  "i." 


Our  hearts  have  ached  so  these  last  few  days  for  Mrs. 
Lothrop  and  Amy.  That  little  baby's  death  must  have 
been  so  doubly  bitter  to  them,  with  his  mother  and  father 
both  across  the  ocean,  tho'  they  have  done  everything 
that  love  and  anxiety  could  suggest  or  care  do,  and  if  he 
had  been  Amy's  child  I  don't  think  she  could  have  been 
more  devoted  to  him.  He  has  scarcely  been  out  of  her 
arms,  and  when  mamma  called  there  the  other  day,  the 
little  white  thing  lay  quite  still  on  her  lap  only  rousing 
himself  to  stroke  her  face.  She  came  to  see  me  ten  days 
ago  and  spoke  of  him  so  much  and  with  such  tender- 
ness—  quite  engrossed  with  him  apparently.  She  said 
that  tho'  Dr.  Putnam  said  nothing  serious  ailed  him,  she 
couldn't  help  being  very  anxious.  The  funeral  was  on 
Friday  and  Bessie  Fiske  said  both  Amy  and  Mrs.  Loth- 
rop looked  fearfully  broken.  A  baby's  death  is  always 
heartrending,  I  think.  It  is  so  hard  to  think  of  them 
apart  from  the  little  helpless  bodies  —  Its  weakness  and 
pain  may  reconcile  them  to  giving  it  back  to  the  arms 
where  no  pain  can  touch  it  any  more.  —  I  had  a  long 
letter  from  Mrs.  Whitman  last  night  saying  she  had 
planned  a  pilgrimage  to  see  me,  but  had  been  dissuaded 
by  the  doctors,  who  said  women  of  85  now  caught  the 
mumps  with  as  much  gaiety  as  they  had  embraced  it 
81  years  before.  I  am  glad  she  was  so  wise.  Think 
how  we  shall  miss  her  —  and  till  October! 

Always  your  loving 

ALICE. 


Aet.  25  129 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

[June  4.] 

MUMPJAWS,  MANCHESTER. 
Dear  N'Elinor, 

If  you  will  persist  in  running  your  head  into  the 
mumpy  lion's  mouth,  no  one  can  prevent  it;  and  the 
lion  himself  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  though  he'll  have 
to  roar  you  as  gently  as  a  sucking  dove.  I  really  have 
assumed  almost  my  usual  graceful  outlines  this  morn- 
ing, but  the  trouble  with  my  mump  is  that  it  is  tidal  in 
its  nature  and  rises  and  falls  under  the  influence  of  the 
moon.  However,  I  manage  to  pouch  a  good  deal  in  spite 
of  it,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  what  Johnson  would  call  its 
infectuosity,  I  should  not  care;  but  I  am  a  little  tired  of 
playing  the  part  of  the  sleeping  partner  Jorkins.  Love 
to  Father  Damien,  and  any  day  after  eleven  or  after  half 
past  four  I  shall  be  pleased  and  proud  to  exhibit 

Your 

NAN. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Monday,  June  18. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  had  intended  to  write  on  Saturday,  but  it  was  so  very 
warm  that  I  put  it  off  till  the  next  day,  which  turned 
out  to  be  a  "  ring-tailed-roarer  "  with  three  rings  round 
its  tail.  You  never  saw  such  a  day  —  beginning  with 
80  degrees  at  breakfast — 93  degrees  in  the  shade  at  noon 
and  still  88  degrees  at  six  o'clock  with  not  a  breath  — 
the  oven-bird  alone  breaking  the  hot  stillness  with  his 


130  1894 

appropriate  melody.  Then  an  immense  blood-red  moon 
rose  upon  the  scene,  and  we  fancied  Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs. 
Pratt  having  recourse  to  "the  Choate  pill,"  which  is  a 
strong  anti-nervous  compound  which  they  take  before 
thunder  storms  and  other  startling  events.  Mrs.  Bell 
wrote  to  say  that  she  would  have  come  up  to  talk  it  all 
over  only  she  was  in  so  liquid  a  state  she  would  have 
had  to  be  brought  in  a  cup.  She  spent  her  day  with 
Stanley's  "Jewish  Church"  —  and  whenever  Abraham 
came  to  a  well  she  shrieked  with  envy.  Isn't  she  per- 
fectly delightful?  Not  only  so  amusing  but  so  warm- 
hearted and  so  full  of  interests.  Just  to  hear  her  talk 
is  a  liberal  education,  and  after  seeing  her  one  wants  to 
get  into  a  library  —  just  crammed  with  books  —  and 
stay  there.  We  were  so  glad  Ellen  Hooper  had  a  chance 
to  enjoy  part  of  one  of  her  calls  when  she  came  down  to 
lunch  with  us  Wednesday.  She  had  only  barely  met 
her  before  and  tore  herself  away  reluctantly  enough  — 
perfectly  fascinated. 

Mrs.  Whitman,  too.  She  came  to  see  me  for  the  last 
time  Thursday,  and  tho'  we  didn't  say  goodbye  —  it  was 
sad  enough  and  left  me  gloomier  than  if  she  hadn't  come 
at  all.  It  made  me  appreciate  how  dependent  I  was  on 
her,  and  how  precious  the  sight  of  her  was  to  us  all. 
However,  as  Mrs.  Beaumont  says,  apropos  of  such  part- 
ings, "  the  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver."  I  had  a  note 
from  her  this  morning  on  board  —  Yeats-Brown,  she 
said,  told  her  not  to  take  a  French  steamer  —  l '  the 
French  were  such  terrible  fellows  you  know  —  If  there 
was  the  slightest  danger  they  always  blew  out  their 
brains  to  save  their  honor." 


Aet.  25  131 

Where  are  you  now  I  wonder?  but  you're  always  in 
my  heart.  Mamma  and  Paulina  send  love. 

Yours  affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Thursday,  July  9th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

When  I  think  that  this  is  about  the  last  letter  I  shall 
have  time  to  write  you  before  you  sail  for  home,  it  seems 
almost  too  good  to  be  true!  Just  think  the  very  last  if 
I  should  wait  my  fortnight.  This  letter  should  have 
been  written  yesterday  only  it  was  a  day  full  of  what  is 
to  me  dissipation.  In  the  first  place  Bessie  Foster  came 
Monday,  and  we  laughed  and  talked  almost  steadily  till 
she  went  on  the  1-40  train  yesterday,  and  in  the  after- 
noon I  dressed  and  went  downstairs  and  entertained 
Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Ellen  Hooper  on  the 
mound  —  or  rather  Mrs.  Bell  entertained  us  all.  I  hap- 
pened to  mention  Delia  Bacon  whose  "life  was  too  busy  " 
according  to  her  biographer,  l '  for  any  of  those  passages 
which  lead  to  matrimony,"  and  Mrs.  Bell  gave  us  a  most 
amusing  account  of  Miss  Bacon's  Lectures  on  History, 
which  she  attended  as  a  girl  in  the  vain  hope  of  hear- 
ing some  spicy  detail  about  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion. 
When  they  were  half  through,  she  told  her  father  she 
would  go  no  more.  "Miss  Bacon  had  given  six  lec- 
tures and  they  had  got  as  far  as  chaos."  She  was  one 
of  the  first,  Mrs.  Bell  said,  to  go  mad  on  the  Bacon- the- 
real-Shakespeare  theory  and  died  literally  of  a  broken 
heart,  on  not  finding  certain  papers  in  Shakespeare's 


132  1894 

tomb  when  it  was  opened  for  her.  I  told  Mrs.  Bell  I 
should  have  thought  nothing  in  the  tomb  could  have 
proved  her  theory,  unless  indeed  it  had  been  the  dis- 
covery of  a  couple  of  "  flitches."  This  of  course  is  pro- 
fane, but  when  it  comes  to  proving  that  Bacon  and  his 
"Rosicrucian"  friends  not  only  wrote  "  Hamlet "  but 
the  "Heavenly  Twins"  it  is  almost  too  much.  By  the 
way,  the  literary  mother  of  the  twins  is  going  to  give 
readings  in  Boston  next  winter  —  shall  you  and  Mrs. 
Whitman  go?  Bessie  told  us  such  a  delightful  remark 
made  by  Florence  Lockwood  to  Cornelia  Aldis.  ' '  As 
Dante  has  done  so  much  for  us,  don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  do  a  little  something  for  his  countrymen?" 
That  is  what  I  call  "literary  slumming"  with  a  ven- 
geance. I  tell  Paulina  that  "considering  all  that  Cal- 
deron  has  made  our  homes,  we  ought  to  buy  our  oranges 
from  Valencia  rather  than  from  Florida."  Apropos  of 
slumming,  Mrs.  Bell  says  how  much  simpler  it  would  be 
if  we  were  Roman  Catholics,  and  then  one's  spiritual 
adviser  would  come  in,  and  say,  "  Put  down  the  '  Bride 
of  Lammermoor '  and  go  to  4  Skunk  Court "  ? 

Among  yesterday's  gaieties  I  forgot  to  mention  a  long 
call  of  Mrs.  Quincy  Shaw  which  I  missed.  She  told 
Paulina  a  great  deal  about  the  Faith-Cure,  and  Paulina 
said  it  was  delightful  to  hear  about  it  from  the  point  of 
view  of  an  enthusiastic  believer,  who  is  also  an  intelli- 
gent spiritually-minded  woman.  Heretofore  we  have 
sat  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful,  and  have  thought  of  it  and 
explained  its  power,  as  Mr.  Hooper  says  he  does,  because 
it  is  like  the  reason  why  James  Freeman  Clarke's  horse 
liked  his  nose  rubbed  with  snow,  "  It  was  a  new  idee." 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Theodore  Lyman  went  to  Mrs.  Dresser,  on 
one  occasion,  but  she  told  some  one  that  she  could  do 


Aet.  25  133 

nothing  for  such  worldly  people!!!  Mrs.  Bell,  on  hear- 
ing this,  said  "a  creed  ought  to  be  wide  enough  to  in- 
clude a  person  whose  dress  happened  to  fit  well." 

But  if  I  begin  to  tell  you  all  the  cunning  things  Mrs. 
Bell  has  said  this  last  fortnight,  I  shall  never  stop  and 
you  are  supposed,  at  least,  to  take  the  deepest  interest 
in  our  daily  round  and  common  task.  Today,  there  is 
a  lull,  I  am  glad  to  say,  and  mamma  has  just  jogged 
over  to  do  the  marketing  (a  yeast-cake  and  five  cents  of 
parsley). 


I've  been  very  good  for  nothing  this  long  while.  The 
day  I  wrote  you  we  had  a  long  call  from  Mr.  Hooper, 
and  after  him  the  deluge!  such  a  storm  crashed  down 
over  us  that  when  we  saw  Mrs.  Bell  the  next  day,  we 
embraced  like  friends  who  had  survived  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  Then  the  heats  came  back,  only  worse  than 
ever,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  Aunt  Florence  to  pass  Sun- 
day. Luckily  she  had  come  from  Richmond,  Maine, 
where  the  thermometer  had  been  at  106  degrees  all  day 
in  the  shade,  and  even  then  she  didn't  find  it  much  bet- 
ter, so  you  can  fancy  our  state!  Fortunately  the  ther- 
mometer had  been  smashed  early  Saturday,  so  we  were 
left  in  blissful  ignorance  of  what  height  it  might  have 
gone  to. 


Mrs.  Higginson  has  gone  to  Newport  for  a  short  visit, 
so  I  and  my  slips  are  trying  to  get  along  without  her 
constant  visits  and  attention.  She  and  Mr.  Higginson 
were  here  together  Sunday,  and  the  week  before  —  that 
broiling  Saturday  —  they  brought  up  a  dozen  of  Mr. 


134  1894 

Le  Farge's  Samoan  water  colors  and  we  forgot  even  the 
heat  in  looking  at  his  tropical  forests  and  oceans  with 
the  clouds  reflected  in  them,  and  breaking  surf  and 
strange  greenish  moonlights.  Several  were  so  beauti- 
ful that  they  have  haunted  us  ever  since.  Mamma 
and  Paulina  are  well  and  want  to  send  their  dearest 
love. 

Always  affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER,  July  25, 
Wednesday  morning. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Mamma  and  Paulina  are  well,  as  are  also  the  livestock; 
and  I  have  a  new  hobby  which  I  ride  with  immense 
zeal  and  vigor  about  my  room  and  piazzas.  This  is  a 
mania  for  gardening,  especially  slipping  —  in  fact  I  have 
become  a  "slipsomaniac,"  and  Mrs.  Higginson  and  Joe 
Clarke  abet  me  with  rose  shoots,  model  flower-pots,  little 
things  to  dig  with  and  enthusiastic  advice  —  There  is 
such  a  watering  and  lifting  in  and  out  of  heavy  plants, 
and  dirt  spilling,  and  re-setting,  that  my  family  are  fast 
getting  over  any  horticultural  tastes  they  may  have  had; 
and  I  begin  to  long  for  Warner's  ' '  cast  iron  back  with 
a  hinge  in  it "  which  he  said  was  requisite  for  garden, 
ing.  Keep  well,  won't  you,  and  bring  back  a  large  stock 
of  animal  spirits  to  face  next  winter  with? 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  25  135 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Monday  [July]. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Paine, 

I  have  been  meditating  on  what  you  wrote  mamma 
and  what  you  said  to  us  about  ' '  War  and  Peace, "  and 
I  don't  think,  for  the  sake  of  the  many  of  us  who  like 
the  book,  we  ought  to  submit  to  such  scathing  anathemas 
without  a  word  in  our  own  defence.  Mrs.  Dalton  told 
me,  laughing,  that  she  has  so  often  said  she  liked  a  book 
only  to  have  some  one  interrupt  with  "But  isn't  it 
rather  —  coarse?"  that  she  now  says,  "I  have  been 
reading  Watts'  Hymns.  They  are  very  coarse  in  places 
to  be  sure  but"  —  and  so  on.  Seriously,  however,  I 
don't  think  you  do  ' '  War  and  Peace  "  even  scant  justice. 
It  is  most  evidently,  it  seems  to  me,  as  well  as  in  real- 
ity, written  by  a  man  of  sensitively  moral  feelings,  and 
tho'  there  are  descriptions  in  it  of  painful  facts  (not 
omitted  in  English  books  but  stated  less  baldly)  I  think 
the  book  as  a  whole  as  well  as  the  principal  characters 
in  it  "make  for  righteousness."  Wrong  is  never  called 
right,  and  one  is  not  asked  to  sympathize  with  any  one 
who  having  fallen  is  not  capable  of  real  repentance. 
The  story  of  the  hero,  Prince  Andre,  is  the  story  of  the 
spiritual  growth  of  a  young  man  of  pure  and  blameless 
life;  and  altho'  you  speak  of  the  book's  degrading  and 
lowering  the  passion  of  love,  Andre's  love  for  Natascha, 
at  least,  had  nothing  sensual  in  it.  He  felt,  it  said  con- 
stantly, the  charm  of  her  soul,  and  even  Pierre's  feeling 
for  her  was  the  adoration  of  an  ideal  entirely  out  of  his 
reach.  Natascha  tho'  fascinating  was  —  well!  Russian! 
It  is  hard  to  understand  her  aberration  for  that  horrible 


136  1894 

Anatole,  but  not  impossible  to  forgive  it,  do  you  think 
so?  —  but  I'm  afraid  you  do  —  and  then  there  is  Pierre 
with  his  high  ideals,  constant  falls  and  weak  will.  You 
do  not  think  Tolstoi  has  a  right  to  present  such  a  per- 
son for  us  to  take  interest  in?  but  surely  you  think  it 
is  a  legitimate  part  of  art  to  paint  fairly  the  struggles 
and  falls  of  a  man,  even  as  erring  as  he  is  —  so  long  as 
there  is  struggle?  It  seems  to  me  that  that  is  the  line 
that  divides  such  writers  as  Tolstoi  and  Meredith  from 
what  are  called  the  Modern  Realists.  If  the  aspiration 
exceeds  the  weakness,  if  the  noble  slowly  conquers  the 
ignoble,  the  higher  self  the  lower  self,  it  is  worthy  of  rec- 
ord; but  if  it  is  only  a  description  of  the  purely  animal 
(however  artistically  done),  the  foul  and  seamy  side  of 
life  with  no  upward  tendency  —  no  moral  struggle,  I 
don't  think  even  you  could  feel  about  it  more  strongly 
than  I  do. 

To  leave  Pierre  and  discuss  the  question  in  the  ab- 
stract. Ethel  says  you  don't  think  having  an  ideal  side 
—  or  rather  a  side  capable  of  high  ideal  standards  — 
compatible  with  a  life  open  to  the  lower  forms  of  temp- 
tation, but  surely  to  insist  that  real  religious  fervor  is 
never  divorced  from  moral  conduct  is  to  deny  that  the 
old  painters  had  inspiration  because  their  lives  were 
often  stormy  —  to  deny  that  because  Coleridge  had  great 
weakness  of  will  and  moral  fibre,  he  was  not  a  great 
spiritual  thinker,  and  above  all  to  deny  the  authorship 
of  the  psalms  to  the  historical  David. 

This  is  more  like  a  Unitarian  (!)  sermon  than  a  letter, 
but  Ethel  will  tell  you  our  little  personal  news.  She 
and  Paulina  are,  strangely  enough,  at  the  Higginsons' 
listening  to  Mrs.  Field's  reading  and  they  lunch  there. 
It  has  been  so  delightful  having  Ethel  and  I  only  wish  I 


Aet.  25  137 

had  been  a  little  better,  but  I  haven't  quite  recovered 
from  that  hot  Friday.  As  our  old  station  master  told 
Mr.  Pratt  "  Hell  has  no  further  terrors  for  me."  That 
was  Friday  when  he  said  it  and  he  expressed  the  feeling 
of  the  Shore.  Hot  or  cold  I  am 

Always  most  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 

Sunday,  August  12. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Mrs.  Bell  said  Delia  Bacon  need  never  have  gone  mad 
had  she  had  what  scientists  called  other  "environment" 
— if  she  could  have  rocked,  for  instance,  with  us  com- 
monplace people  on  the  mound ;  but  I  told  her  that  only 
people  of  well-balanced  mind  could  "set  in  chairs"  on 
"Rydal  Mount"  owing  to  the  lay  of  the  land.  Indeed 
Paulina  and  Ellen  only  held  on  by  their  eyelids  —  Mrs. 
Bell  was  so  amusing  on  the  subject  of  Drummond's 
Lowell  Lectures  which  she  had  just  been  reading,  but  if 
I  once  begin  on  Mrs.  Bell's  cunning  remarks  I  shall 
never  stop.  She  was  perfectly  delightful  Friday  when 
the  lunch  came  off — so  was  Mrs.  Pratt,  and  Mrs.  Lodge 
was,  it  is  needless  to  say,  more  affectionate  and  fas- 
cinating than  ever. 

Isn't  this  cool  weather  delightful?  Last  night  I  sat 
at  supper  in  a  fur-cape,  and  the  glare  of  the  candles  on 
Uncle  Melly's  birthday  cake  was  grateful.  "  Hamlet  " 
gave  him  a  little  bark  in  an  envelope,  fastened  with  a 


138  1894 

symbolic  bachelor's  button,  and  insisted  upon  sharing 
his  candy  with  him  in  return.  This  morning  Paulina 
is  twenty-two  and  feels  depressed  and  crone-like  in  con- 
sequence. She  says  if  she  hasn't  intense  youth  to  fall 
back  on,  what  will  explain  her  manners?  — As  I 
loudly  address  Hamlet  as  "puppy"  when  he  barks  at 
passers-by.  Birthdays  seem  to  be  the  order  of  the 
week —  Mrs.  Higginson  had  one  Thursday  and  we  gave 
her  that  big  photograph  of  Van  Dyck's  Mr.  Higginson. 

Always  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

Thursday  Afternoon  [August  31]. 
Dear  Elinor, 

This  is  to  tell  you  that  I  am  really  beginning  to  feel 
less  like  a  jelly-fish  than  I  have  (the  poisonous  crimson 
ones  that  bite  if  you  step  on  them)  tho'  I  haven't  got 
further  than  lying  stranded  away  from  the  reach  of  the 
waves.  This  means  in  English  that  I  don't  sit  up  yet 
nor  read  nor  do  anything.  —  This  is  my  first  note  and 

I  am  rather  proud  of  it. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 


My  own  darling, 


To  HER  SISTER. 

Tuesday  Morning  [October]. 


Hamlet  is  the  greatest  comfort  tho'  his  spirits,  if  any- 
thing, are  a  trifle  low.     All  yesterday  he  clung  to  my 


Aet.  25  139 

bed  as  if  it  were  a  raft  on  troubled  seas,  and  he  and  I 
the  lone  survivors  of  a  large  ship- wrecked  company.  He 
sends  you  a  damp  kiss  to  which  the  Judge  adds  two 
pecks  for  "self  and  Valty." 

Nothing  remarkably  striking  has  occurred  since  five 
o'clock  yesterday,  except  a  call  from  Dr.  Mason  and 
Nunc's  return  from  Pittsfield .  Robert  was  looking  very 
ill,  he  thought.  .  .  .  They  go  to  Gibraltar  and  Algiers 
in  January,  whether  the  patent-educator  is  secured  or 
not. 

Did  you  have  enough  lunch  and  wasn't  it  chillsome 
enough  to  make  the  lachrymose  Fleda  shed  tears  of 
gratitude  for  the  loan  of  Guy  Carleton's  fur  cloak? 
Give  my  best  love  to  every  one  and  take  care  of  your 
dear  self,  for  you  are  still  dear  to  me. 

Your  own 
Miss  NAN. 

Noon. 

We  have  just  got  your  first  letter —  How  nice  it  all 
sounds.  Mrs.  Whitman  gets  in  at  nine  tonight.  I  am 
going  to  wake  her  by  a  red-rose  tomorrow  morning  — 
from  48  to  7Y? 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Friday  Noon  [October], 
Bad  Miss: 

No  letter  all  yesterday  and  none  so  far  today!  Has 
it  gone  like  your  Chicago  ones,  to  Winchester  or  Nan- 
tucket,  or  has  it  taken  the  slow-train  to  Weedon?  It 
is  dampening  to  the  spirit  of  an  ardent  correspondent. 


14:0  1894: 

On  the  bed,  done  up  in  Valty's  petticoat,  is  the  most 
pathetic  tiny  little  catkin — all  ragged  brown  fur  and 
whiskers,  and  just  beginning  to  revive  on  warm  milk 
after  her  long  journey  which  she  began  yesterday  from 
Deerfield.  She  got  here  two  hours  ago  almost  dead 
from  hunger,  cold  and  exhaustion. 

Thursday  afternoon,  Mrs.  Whitman  ran  in  for  a  sec- 
ond little  call  and  brought  me  such  a  cunning  battered 
old  seal  —  almost  as  large  as  her  own  and  a  great  deal 
more  proper  —  St.  Martin  treading  on  a  fascinating 
curly  dragon.  Remembering  the  ivory-duck  incident, 
and  your  insulting  remarks  about  my  gift  instincts,  you 
pert  young  person,  I  particularly  inquired  if  it  was 
meant  for  me.  Of  course  it  was  and  then  she  took  — 
not  a  dial  from  her  poke  but  a  cunning  turquoise  and 
silver  filigree  cross  —  which  in  my  mind's  eye  I  see  pro- 
truding from  under  your  dark  blue  street-dress  button- 
hole—  and  said,  "Give  this  to  my  Paulina,"  which  I 
shall  if  you  behave  well.  My  live  gift  to  her  is  picking 
up,  and  a  more  ludicrous  little  bunch  you  never  saw  — 
Mamma  quite  dotes  and  Fatima  has  selected  her  shoulder 
as  a  soft  place  to  curl  up  and  view  the  country. 


If  this  rug  had  any  of  the  properties  of  a  wishing  car- 
pet, I  should  lie  down  on  it  and  be  whisked  off  to  your 
and  Elinor's  side  under  the  apple-tree  with  the  lake  and 
the  meadows,  the  calves  and  colts  and  all  the  dear  human 
creatures  —  Alack!  poor  cockney!  Mrs.  Whitman  told 
me,  apropos  of  cockneys,  of  Mrs.  Bell's  amazement  on 
seeing  asparagus  growing.  Mrs.  Pratt  said,  "Why, 
Helen,  how  can  you  be  such  a  fool!  What  did  you 


Aet.  26  141 

think?"     "Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  " I  always  supposed 
the  cook  braided  the  ends!!" 
With  lots  of  love  to  all. 

Your 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 
Wednesday,  Nov.  21. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Your  last  letter  sounded  so  tired  and  sad  that  I  have 
longed  to  write  you  ever  since,  but  the  mere  physical 
exertion  is  still  a  good  deal  of  a  drawback,  and  my 
"well"  days  consist  of  very  few  available  moments. 
Between  twelve  and  luncheon,  I  am  allowed  to  see  one 
or  two  people,  and  after  five  if  I  am  strongly  tempted, 
(which  means  if  it  happens  to  be  Mrs.  Whitman,  the 
Higginsons,  Mrs.  Bell  and  so  on)  when  Paulina  presides 
over  the  tea  things,  and  I  sit  propped  up  in  bed  airing  a 
whole  new  collection  of  befrilled  jackets.  All  the  rest 
of  the  time,  I  lie  quite  still,  except  between  9.30  and 
10.30,  when  I  sit  up  in  a  blanket,  see  my  cook,  order 
my  meals  and  do  a  little  bit  of  reading.  In  a  few  weeks 
I  fondly  hope  to  be  dressed  and  downstairs  again  —  at 
least  I  do  hope  it,  when  I'm  not  having  a  "  down-time," 
when  moving  ever  again  seems  utterly  out  of  the  ques- 
tion—  and  now  about  yourself,  dear?  Are  you  rested 
at  all  and  reconciled  to  going  back  after  what  must  have 
been  a  great  disappointment  —  giving  up  the  hope  of 
being  in  Boston  this  winter.  You  see  I  heard  of  that 
plan,  and  then  nothing  till  your  letter  from  Louisville: 
and  you  don't  say  whether  you  are  living  in  the  same 


142  1894 

place  and  keeping  house  with  Miss  Seabury  (?)  as  you 
did  last  year? — but  don't  tire  yourself  writing  to  me. 
You  ought  to  keep  yourself  for  your  work,  and  I  have 
no  work  except  to  keep  my  absent  friends  posted  up  in 
the  gossip  of  that  little  bit  of  familiar  world  which 
beats  up  my  doorsteps. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 


Aet.  26  143 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 

Tuesday,  January  15. 
Dear  Bessie, 

It  was  very  nice  to  get  such  a  long  letter  from  you 
and  hear  how  interesting  you  found  your  work,  and  how 
much  better  you  were  and  how  much  cheered  up  since 
you  wrote  last. 

Indeed  I  am  getting  a  great  deal  stronger  and  sit  up 
almost  every  evening  at  tea-time,  and  see  my  average 
five  selected  friends  a  day  without  paying  a  heavy 
price  for  it  in  palpitation  and  sinking  when  evening 
sets  in.  Soon  I  hope  to  get  to  drive.  I  manage  things 
much  better  now  and  receive  any  one  I  want  to  see  up- 
stairs without  a  blush.  Indeed,  I  tell  Elinor  I  have 
been  so  long  bed-ridden  that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  four  wal- 
nut legs  ending  neatly  in  castors,  and  rather  enjoy  ex- 
hibiting my  pink  jackets  to  Mr.  Higginson  and  Mr. 
Hooper  and  Dr.  Bigelow.  As  for  Mrs.  Higginson  and 
Mrs.  Whitman,  Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs.  Dexter  they  all  dis- 
courage my  getting  up,  and  seem  to  think  it  a  comfort 
to  know  some  one  who  is  always  at  home.  —  Paulina 
says  what  makes  this  room  attractive  is  that  no  subject 
of  general  interest  and  no  great  question  is  ever  dis- 
cussed (like  the  private-spirited  man)  and  we  unblush- 
ingly  ask  people  to  five  o'clock  lotus.  It  is  a  place  where 
any  one  can  take  laughing  gas  and  have  their  wisdom 
teeth  extracted  without  pain.  Apropos  of  great  ques- 
tions, Paulina  makes  her  first  appearance  this  afternoon 
at  the  Tuesday  Club,  where  she  says  she  proposes  to  dis- 
cuss the  ulsness  of  the  Was"  with  Miss  Agnes  Irwin. 


144:  1895 

At  first  she  was  overcome  with  blushes  —  on  getting 
the  announcement  of  her  election  as  substitute,  and 
looked  I  told  her  as  Major  Pendennis  did  when  he 
asked  if  the  plucking  was  done  in  public.  She  accepted, 
however,  tho'  still  feeling  that  it  was  the  hall-mark  of 
spinster-hood.  Like  the  bud  who  saw  a  girl  of  twenty- 
two  at  some  ball  this  winter,  and  asked  if  that  old  war- 
horse  were  still  going!  This  is  not  an  exaggerated  type 
of  Boston  society,  and  Paulina's  invitations  have  fallen 
off  surprisingly  this  winter,  but  she  still  has  enough 
pleasuring  to  keep  her  amused. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ISABELLA  CURTIS. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 
Friday  Morning,  Feb.  15. 
Dear  old  Bella, 

It  shan't  be  said  that  I  let  my  Elizabeth  go  off  so  far 
and  stay  so  long  without  one  line  from  her  devoted 
Anna,  but  Anna's  thoughts  speed  faster  than  her  pen 
and  her  heart  bears  the  Jamaica  post-mark,  as  you 
know.  Perhaps  that  accounts  for  it.  And  then  Paulina 
has  stolen  all  my  thunder.  However  when  she  wrote 
Monday,  she  didn't  know  that  Bay  would  telegraph  late 
in  the  afternoon  that  he  was  ill  in  Washington,  and  that 
after  a  few  futile  attempts  at  securing  the  indispensable 
one  man,  we  should  have  to  settle  down  to  a  hen  dinner 
with  Ellen  and  Mrs.  Whitman,  a  stately  meal  and  best 
clothes  alone  to  mark  it  a  festive  occasion.  And  after  all 
we  had  a  most  merry  time  only  dampened  by  the  Paines' 


Aet.  26  145 

dance  which  seemed  to  cast  its  shadow  before.  Ellen 
and  Paulina  went  off  in  lamentation  and  woe,  which  re- 
minded us  of  the  sprightly  mood  in  which  you  used  to 
look  forward  to  your  gaieties,  had  a  very  pleasant  time 
and  didn't  come  back  till  one,  leaving  Elinor  still  in  the 
giddy  throng.  Elinor  is  growing  disgracefully  young, 
but  we  are  going  to  try  and  sober  her  Wednesday  by 
having  her  to  dine  with  her  running  mates,  Mrs.  Bell 
and  Mr.  Edward  Hooper,  tho'  I  don't  know  that  Mrs. 
Bell  is  a  very  good  receipt  for  sobering  any  one.  Doesn't 
it  sound  rather  juicy?  the  dinner  I  mean,  or  rather  the 
meal.  We  don't  call  these  weird  affairs  dinners,  bear- 
ing in  mind  the  fact  that  * '  One  swallow-tail  coat  doesn't 
make  a  party." 

Do  you  happen  to  know  by  personal  experience  that 
yesterday  was  St.  Valentine's  Day?  Well  (triumphantly) 
I  do,  for  Fanny  brought  me  the  prettiest  embroidered 
cloth  just  to  fit  my  tea  tray  and  a  sketch  of  Rock  Har- 
bor for  Paulina,  who  had  one  other  valentine  and  sent 
one. 

Valentina  and  the  Judge  were  married  yesterday,  and 
they  had  wedding  cards  sent  out,  in  which  the  Misses 
Smith  had  the  honor  to  announce  etc.  at  the  Church  of 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi  —  and  a  magnificent  white  azalia 
bush  came  from  Mrs.  Whitman  and  a  frosted  cake  with 
white  ribbons  and  Shakespearian  quotations  from  Mrs. 
Bell  and  Mrs.  Pratt.  You  see  we  and  our  friends  are 
just  as  foolish  as  ever. 

Your  fond  but  tired 

NANNY. 


146  1895 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Saturday. 
Dearest,  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  was  only  told  this  morning  of  the  awful  grief  and 
desolation  that  has  come  to  you.  There  is  nothing  to 
be  said,  no  words  of  human  comfort  that  can  reach  you, 
I  know,  but  my  heart  and  thoughts  and  prayers  are 
with  you  always;  and  the  other  world  must  seem  very 
close,  and  the  rest  of  the  journey  very  short  till  the  time 
when  we  shall  be  forever  with  all  those  we  love  and  no 
parting  more.  In  the  face  of  the  Eternities  of  love  and 
grief,  Time  seems  very  short  and  present  loneliness  the 
small  price  that  Love  must  pay  for  its  sacred  memories 
and  great  hopes.  Do  you  remember  this  bit  out  of  a 
letter  written  by  Mr.  Brooks  to  a  person  in  trouble  — 
"There  is"  no  help  for  you  except  the  help  which  I  know 
that  you  have  found,  that  which  comes  with  the  power, 
in  entire  unselfishness,  to  rejoice  for  the  happiness  of 
the  soul  which  has  gone  to  G-od,  in  the  midst  of  the  great 
suffering  which  its  going  has  brought  to  you.  That  is 
the  last  devotion  one  can  render  to  those  who  are  dear- 
est to  us.  When  we  do  truly  render  it  to  them,  then  in 
a  true  sense  do  we  really  go  to  the  God  to  whom  they 
have  gone  and  are  with  them  in  Him." 

In  the  midst  of  the  pain  and  loneliness  may  God  gather 
you  in  His  arms,  and  comfort  you,  and  make  His  face  to 
shine  on  you,  and  send  you  His  peace  that  passeth  un- 
derstanding. 

Your  loving 
ALICE. 


Aet.  26  147 

To  Miss  ISABELLA  CURTIS. 

BOSTON,  March  5. 
Dear  Bella, 

We  were  much  touched  by  Etta's  card.  I  suppose  you 
have  heard  that  the  little  de  Vita  de  Marco  has  already 
put  in  an  appearance.  The  family  received  a  cable  last 
week  containing  these  mystic  words; —  "  Bring  stacks 
of  safety  pins  "  —  a  product  apparently  not  indigenous 
to  the  Eternal  city. 


I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  your  father's  dissipa- 
tions with  Prince  Volkonsky?  Alice  prophesied  that 
of  course  he  would  stay  late,  drinking  vodka,  wrestling 
with  bears  and  then  would  jump  into  his  drosky,  loosely 
harnessed  to  wild  tartar  horses,  and  proceed  to  run  down 
numerous  menials  whom  he  had  previously  flung  from 
an  upper  window.  Merry  fellows  those  Russians.  Of 
course,  the  Prince's  name  is  Serge.  As  Alice  says,  in 
Russia,  they  name  all  their  boys  Serge  and  their  daugh- 
ters Alpaca. 

The  Prince  the  other  day  was  at  a  small  afternoon  tea, 
and  was  just  leaving  when  he  returned  to  his  hostess, 
asking  her  to  introduce  him  to  the  charming  old  lady  by 
the  fire,  the  only  person  in  the  room  he  had  not  met. 
"Who  is  she?"  "My  mother."  "Why  will  all  you 
Americans  chew  gum?" 


Always  your  constant  correspondents, 

ALICE  AND  PAULINA. 


14:8  1895 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

[Mar.  13.] 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

It  is  such  a  comfort  to  think  you  are  to  be  close  among 
us  all  next  summer.  I  was  sure  that  was  what  your 
heart  would  dictate  —  to  come  back  among  all  the  dear 
familiar  things  and  faces,  where  grief  doesn't  seem 
strange  and  unreal  but  sweet  and  natural. 

Mrs.  Whitman  quoted  the  other  evening  that  beauti- 
ful sentence  of  Stevenson's,  "  The  consecration  of  mem- 
ory," and  I  know  that  in  it  home  and  all  that  is  con- 
nected with  it  will  be  doubly  dear  and  sacred  to  you 
now. 

Mamma  says  that  you  don't  want  me  to  come  to  you, 
but  that  soon  you  will  come  to  me.  I  was  afraid  the 
idea  of  a  visit  from  so  stationary  a  person  might  be  more 
of  a  distress  than  a  comfort,  but  I  do  long  to  go  to  you 
just  to  tell  you  how  I  love  you  and  want  to  help  you. 

Mamma  and  Mrs.  Whitman  bring  me  such  comfort- 
ing accounts  of  you.  Perhaps  the  kindest  thing  any  of 
us  can  do  is  to  leave  you  alone  with  the  vision  —  just 
listening  and  resting  in  that  —  God  never  fails  those 
like  you,  who  have  always  walked  in  His  ways. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 
Wednesday. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 

Begun  Thursday,  Mar.  14. 
Dear  Bessie, 

It  was  nice  to  get  your  letter  the  other  day,  and  be- 
fore that  to  picture  you  indulging  in  an  afternoon  tea  — 


Aet.  26  149 

especially  as  I  have  been  meaning  to  write  you  this  long 
time,  but  have  been  prevented  by  one  thing  and  another 
including  the  "grippe,"  which  I  had  for  the  first  and,  I 
trust,  the  only  time  about  a  month  ago.  I  bore  it  with 
considerable  spirit,  but  it  took  up  a  whole  fortnight  of 
my  precious  time  as  far  as  letter  writing  and  society  is 
concerned  —  and  then  this  last  week  a  great  grief  has 
come  to  us  thro'  our  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  whose  husband 
died  quite  suddenly  last  Thursday  of  heart-disease.  It 
was  a  beautiful  painless  way  to  go — at  home  and  in  his 
own  bed,  where  he  had  gone  early  in  the  evening  rather 
tired  from  a  business  trip  to  Salem,  and  with  his  wife 
within  hearing  of  the  hard  breathing  that  was  the  only 
warning  they  had  that  he  was  dying — in  his  sleep  proba- 
bly. She  bears  it  as  she  does  everything,  most  sweetly 
and  unselfishly,  but  it  leaves  her  —  delicate  and  childless 
as  she  is  —  broken  and  most  piteously  alone.  She  has 
thousands  of  warm  friends  tho',  among  rich  and  poor,  and 
it  is  a  comfort  to  think  she  is  to  be  in  her  own  house  in 

Manchester  this  summer. 

\ 

Yesterday  Paulina  had  her  photograph  taken  as  Eliz- 
abeth Bennet,  in  which  character  she  made  a  distinct 
success  at  the  Fancy  Ball  a  while  ago.  The  Curtises 
lent  her  the  things  and  dressed  her,  and  I  can't  tell  you 
how  cunning  she  looked,  from  her  white  satin  sandals 
up  to  the  top  of  her  great  tortoise-shell  comb  —  all  dat- 
ing back  to  1810;  and  the  ball  itself  seems  to  have  been 
not  only  a  pretty  sight  but  a  delightfully  pleasant  party. 
Even  Dante  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  dance  the  Vir- 
ginia Reel.  And  now  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  have 
a  few  statistics  about  my  winter  —  not  a  list  of  the 
people  who  come  to  see  me  every  day  —  but  what  I  do 


150  1895 

and  how  I  am  generally.  To  begin  at  the  end,  I  am  as  a 
whole  much  more  comfortable,  and  can  scarcely  believe 
I  am  the  same  person  I  was  in  the  early  autumn,  and  I 
walk  up  four  stairs  every  day  by  way  of  exercise  (I  did 
reach  six,  but  it  didn't  agree  with  me  and  I  have  fallen 
into  humbler  ways)  and  I  have  dined  downstairs  three 
times  since  I  wrote,  with  a  few  people  in  each  time  to 
dine  with  us  and  make  it  a  festal  occasion —  As  we 
had  Bessie  Foster  with  Mrs.  Bell  and  Dr.  Bigelow  the 
first  time  —  and  Ellen  Hooper  with  Mrs.  Whitman,  and 
Mrs.  Bell  again  with  Elinor  and  Mr.  Hooper,  there  was 
no  trouble  about  the  festivity,  and  I  was  borne  upstairs 
afterwards  in  triumph.  „ 

By  the  way  did  you  see  that  serious  protest  against 
the  lions  in  the  new  Library,  because  they  represented 
force,  and  a  suggestion  that  something  should  be  put 
up  in  their  place  "symbolic  of  Peace  and  the  Union  of 
Man  and  Woman"?  Mrs.  Bell  got  laughing  over  it, 
and  said  life  was  grown  "so  complicated  nowadays 
that  one  could  not  take  a  bath  unless  one  faucet  sym- 
bolized Chastity  and  the  other  Immortality." 

Affectionately, 

i 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[Mar.  27.] 
My  own  darling  Ethel, 

Paulina  has  just  got  your  sad  birthday  letter,  and  tho' 
she  is  going  to  write,  I  feel  as  tho'  I  must  send  you  a 
line  too  just  to  tell  you  how  dearly  I  love  you  for  my 
own  sake.  I  wish  I  could  stretch  my  arms  across  all 


Aet.  26  151 

these  hundred  miles  and  hug  you  —  words  always  seem 
so  cold  and  formal,  but  you  mustn't  think  you  have  no 
friends  nor  say  or  think  such  things  about  yourself. 
Do  you  remember  St.  Francis'  —  I  think  it  was  St. 
Francis' — advice  to  a  penitent,  to  be  "douce  envers  soi" 
And  tho'  birthdays  are  sad,  like  all  anniversaries,  I  think 
it  must  have  been  intended  that  we  should  gather  new 
hope  to  go  on  with,  and  ' '  forgetting  those  things  which 
are  behind,"  should  look  on  them  as  moments  of  vision 
from  which  we  can  look  out  into  what  we  may  —  and 
shall — be,  which  no  feeble  past  can  dim.  So  much  for 
yourself;  but  for  us,  you  know  you  have  always  been  the 
sweetest  and  most  sympathetic,  the  humblest  minded 
and  softest  hearted,  and  if  you  insist  upon  being  a  but- 
terfly it  must  be  of  the  Psyche  sort  I  think.  I  must  get 
up  to  prance  on  the  stairs,  but  Paulina  will  tell  you  how 
well  I  am  and  all  the  news.  This  is  just  to  say  (which 
is  not  news  at  all)  that  I  am,  as  always, 

Yours  most  lovingly, 

ALICE. 
Wednesday. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

[Easter.] 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Mamma  has  worn  your  violets  to  church,  and  that 
most  beautiful  of  lilies  stands  by  my  window  and  makes 
the  whole  room  shine.  Thank  you  for  sending  me  the 
poem,  which  I  shall  value  highly,  and  which  I  had  never 
seen  before  and  thank  you  for  the  note  that  came  with 
it. 

Today,  of  all  days,  we  are  all  thinking  the  same 
thoughts  —  bound  together  by  the  same  great  hopes. 


152  1895 

Earth  seems  to  lie  so  close  to  heaven  on  Easter  that 
death  shrinks  into  a  very  little  thing  —  ' ( only  the 
change  from  the  struggle  to  the  victory,  only  the 
opening  of  the  dusk  and  twilight  into  the  perfect 
day." 

Always,  dear  Mrs.  Paine, 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Easter  Morning. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MT.  VERNON  ST., 
Monday,  April  29th. 
Dear  Bessie 

You  will  be  glad  to  hear  how  much  I  am  able  to  do, 
without  encroaching  on  my  margin  either.  I  tell  Paul- 
ina I  am  so  much  better,  I  feel  like  a  giant  refreshed  with 
wine.  Easter  I  was  able  to  go  to  early  Communion, 
which  I  had  longed  very  much  to  do,  and  since  then  on 
sunny  mornings  instead  of  a  poky  drive,  I  go  across  the 
street  to  Mrs.  Whitman's  grassy  front  yard  where  her 
"  Buttons  "  brings  us  out  rugs  and  chairs,  and  I  receive 
my  twelve  o'clock  callers,  till  the  men  come  home  at 
luncheon  time  and  carry  me  upstairs.  You've  no  idea 
what  a  festive  scene  we  make  nor  what  a  gay  time  we 
have  —  Mrs.  Bell  and  my  "old  guard"  being  varied  by 
an  occasional  baby-carriage,  and  a  live  young  man  or  so 
and  of  course  the  Curtises,  Hoopers  and  Paines.  The 
first  time  Mrs.  Whitman  found  us  there  she  said  we  re- 
minded her  of  a  bit  of  newspaper  criticism  on  a  water- 
color  exhibition,  "number  482  is  the  picture  of  a  clear 


Aet.  26  153 

strong  picnic  in  Asia  Minor."  Then  last  Friday,  I  went 
round  to  Dr.  Bigelow's  early  to  see  his  most  beautiful 
Bonif azio  Madonna,  and  then  stayed  on  to  see  the  ' t  folks  " 
who  regularly  drop  in  to  tea  with  him  after  the  concert. 
Dickson,  my  steed,  went  with  me,  and  of  course  Paulina, 
and  we  had  a  delightful  time  and  I  was  none  the  worse. 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday  Morning  [May  18]. 
Dear  Elinor, 

It's  absurd  to  have  daily  bulletins  about  such  a  healthy 
maladeimaginaire  as  I  have  become,  but  I  thought  you'd 
like  to  know  that  I  came  like  a  bird  —  or  rather  like  the 
birds  —  starting  rather  thin  with  fright  and  beginning 
to  chirp  at  about  Salem.  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  how 
delightfully  backward  it  was  down  here?  real  early 
Spring,  and  not  midsummer  which  we  left  with  the  dust 
and  the  close  air,  the  chattering  sparrows  and  cockneys 
in  Boston  town.  If  you  say  he's  a  cockney  who  is  one 
inwardly,  I  beg  leave  to  remark  that  I've  had  a  change 
of  heart  since  my  foot  was  on  my  native  heath  (This  for 
the  assessor)  —  and  that  any  thing  lovelier  than  the  view 
from  my  window  I  shouldn't  care  to  see  —  and  the  birds 
and  the  wind  thro'  the  pines,  oh  my! — and  the  little  pink 
oak-leaves  against  the  sky.  The  sea  is  blue  with  cold  — 
so  is  Paulina's  nose —  This  for  her  benefit. 

Yours, 

NANNY. 


154  1895 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

[May  22.] 

MANCHESTER,  Wednesday. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Paulina  brought  me  rather  a  piteous  account  of  you 
but  perhaps  this  proof  of  how  physically  done-up  you 
are  will  make  you  struggle  less  to  do  things  you  are 
not  up  to  yet.  If  you  only  would  lie  still  and  just  shut 
your  eyes  and  try  to  forget  all  the  outside  jars  and  frets, 
I  am  sure  it  would  be  better  in  the  end  and  that  you 
would  go  back  to  work,  when  the  time  comes,  stronger 
and  serener  after  that  time  of  silence  and  refreshment. 
But  of  course  you  know,  as  I  can't,  what  really  can't  be 
done  by  any  one  else.  I  was  so  glad  to  hear  what  a 
beautiful  call  you  had  had  from  Mrs.  Whitman  —  she 
always  leaves  one  a  little  braver  than  she  found  one 
and  looking  at  things  from  a  bit  further  up  the  hill- 
side. 

I  have  been  re-reading  Hinton's  "Mystery  of  Pain  " 
which  I  understand  better  than  I  did  at  first  and  like 
even  more,  and  I  have  read  for  the  first  time  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleman  Coolidge's  article  on  Christian  Science,  or  rather 
—  as  she  calls  it —  "The  Modern  Expression  of  the  Old- 
est Philosophy."  Some  parts  I  can't  quite  grasp  and 
others  I  totally  disagree  with,  but  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  it  that  I  found  most  beautiful  and  true  from  the 
most  spiritual  standpoint.  I  wonder  if  you  ever  read 
it  and  whether  you  wouldn't  like  it  too?  But  these 
question-marks  don't  mean  that  you  are  to  answer  me, 
which  you  mustn't  on  any  account. 

By  the  way,  you  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  my  chair 


Aet.  26  155 

on  poles  is  a  hideous  failure.  It  came  yesterday  so  I 
went  out  and  sat  on  my  mound  and  had  my  lunch 
downstairs.  Everything  was  a  success  but  my  return. 
It  —  the  chair  I  mean  —  joggled  and  tipped  —  do  what 
they  would,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  be  set  down  dizzy 
and  nauseated  on  my  own  floor.  It  felt  like  ' '  letting 
the  old  cat  die  "  in  a  swing  and  I  felt  like  the  old  cat. 
Have  I  made  your  head  ache  with  my  long  letter? 

Most  lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  E.  P.  SAMPSON. 

MANCHESTER, 

Tuesday,  May  28. 
My  dear  Aunt  Florence, 

I  received  your  letter  yesterday  and  my  heart  aches 
for  you  all  —  for  you  and  Mary  even  more  than  dear 
Robert  himself.  I  wish  there  were  anything  I  could 
do  except  to  have  you  in  my  thoughts.  It  is,  as  you 
say,  very  hard  to  understand  but  not  so  inexplicable 
and  bitter  as  it  would  be  if  he  had  not  grown  so  in 
sweetness  and  strength  thro'  this  long  discipline  of 
pain  and  weakness  and,  what  is  even  harder  to  bear 
for  men,  deprivation.  To  have  seen  that  "the  inward 
man "  has  been  "renewed  day  by  day  "  must  be  a  con- 
stant and  lasting  source  of  comfort  to  you  whatever 
the  Future  has  in  store  for  you  and  pride  and  joy  must 
struggle  with  the  overwhelming  pain  and  regret.  Does 
he  suffer  much  actual  pain  now  or  is  it  mostly  weak- 
ness?—  and  what  a  comfort  it  must  be  to  have  him 
safe  at  home  again.  Perhaps  when  the  warm  weather 
comes  and  he  has  had  time  to  get  over  the  effects  of 
his  journey  (and  the  nervous  strain  of  it  must  have 


156  1895 

been  very  trying  for  him)  he  will  be  able  to  enjoy  sit- 
ting out  of  doors.  The  elevator  will  make  things  so 
much  simpler  for  him.  Unless  it  distresses  you  too 
much  you  must  let  us  know  how  he  is  from  time  to 
time,  and  will  you  please  give  him  my  dearest  love?  To 
a  certain  extent  I  have  been  along  the  same  path  and 
can  understand. 

Mamma  told  you  perhaps  how  much  better  I  am,  and 
tho'  I  had  a  bad  turn  Saturday  night  which  has  thrown 
me  back  a  little,  I  am  on  the  whole  remarkably  well  — 
even  to  the  point  of  sleeping  without  sulphonal.  I  can 
go  up  eleven  stairs  —  walking  backwards  —  which  the 
doctors  have  me  do  as  it  throws  less  strain  on  the 
chest  —  and  three  mornings  I  have  gone  out  on  to  my 
little  upstairs  piazza  and  had  my  breakfast  with  such 
sights  and  sounds  and  smells  about  me  that  eating 
seemed  like  a  profanity. 

We  left  Summer  behind  us  in  Boston  and  found  early 
Spring  down  here  —  the  apple-blossoms  not  even  in  bud 
and  even  now  the  birches  still  "stand  in  a  mist  of 
green"  among  the  pine-trees  and  all  the  little  things 
are  delightfully  backward.  It  is  like  reading  ones 
favorite  chapter  in  a  novel  over  again  —  to  have  two 
Springs. 

Mrs.  Bell  dislikes  the  approach  of  the  summer-time  so 
much  that  she  wants  —  she  says — "to  slap  Nature's 
green  face  "  and  frankly  owns  that  —  "a  three-ply  in  a 
Chestnut  Street  garret  is  fairer  to  her  than  any  carpet 
of  Nature, "but  I  think  she  is  getting  more  reconciled. 
We  see  her  every  day,  and  Mrs.  Higginson,  who,  on  the 
other  hand,  loves  every  outdoor  sight  and  sound  as  you 
do.  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  get  into  your  woods  as 
soon  as  this  November  weather  breaks.  It  was  so  very 


Aet.  26  157 

kind  of  you  to  think  of  Paulina  and  me  in  the  midst  of 
all  your  last  winter's  cares  and  anxieties.  You  must 
let  us  thank  you  for  that  beforehand,  and  with  hopes  of 

hearing  better  accounts  soon  I  am, 

Most  lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday,  June  20. 
Dear  Bessie, 

Bay  we  expect  shortly  for  a  night  or  two  here  to  say 
good-bye  —  a  thing  I  detest.  The  result  is  I  do  very 
little  else.  Next  week  Ethel  and  Mrs.  Paine  separately 
make  us  little  farewell  visits  before  sailing  July  2nd, 
but  that  is  to  be  only  an  affair  of  a  few  summer  months 
for  which  time  Mrs.  Lodge  is  to  be  away  also,  and  Mr. 
Higginson  still  lingers  in  England — heedless  of  prom- 
ises. I  sometimes  wish  the  Old  World  had  never  been 
invented.  And  now  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  hear 
some  sordid  details  about  how  we  are  and  what  we  are 
doing.  Just  at  this  moment  I  am  lying  out  on  my 
little  upstairs  piazza,  where  I  and  my  sofa  move  out  be- 
fore breakfast — enjoying  the  sights  and  sounds  and  the 
smell  of  warm  pines  with  the  line  of  sea  for  a  back- 
ground and  nothing  but  the  blue  sky  overhead.  ' '  Ham- 
let "  is  watching  the  road  lest  the  rare  passing  cart 
should  escape  without  a  hospitable  bark,  and  inside 
the  screen-door  "Judge  Bird"  is  singing  love-songs  to 
"  Valentina"  in  the  midst  of  my  first  presents  of  June 
roses  which  came,  hand  over  hand,  so  to  speak,  yester- 
day. You  see  tho'  the  world  goes  on  outside  I  and  my 


158  1895 

belongings  remain  pretty  stationary,  with  a  change  of 
sky-settings  twice  during  the  year.  —  We  moved  the 
fifteenth  of  May  and  as  soon  as  the  move  was  over  felt 
as  if  we  had  somehow  got  back  into  last  summer  and 
the  winter  was  all  a  dream.  To  be  sure  I  am  a  giant 
compared  to  what  I  was  after  the  middle  of  August  last 
year  but  rather  weak  and  helpless  when  I  think  of  my- 
self and  all  I  could  do  this  time  last  summer,  but  I  am 
very  grateful  to  be  free  from  so  much  pain  and  try  hard 
to  keep  within  safe  limits.  I  have  learnt  by  sad  ex- 
perience how  little  it  takes  to  throw  me  back. 

Yesterday  I  had  a  quiet  hour  with  my  dear  Mrs.  Dex- 
ter and  missed  Mrs.  Pratt  and  Mrs.  Higginson  while  she 
was  here,  and  the  afternoon  before  Mrs.  Bell  sat  with  me 
from  five  to  six  and  Mrs.  Whitman  paid  me  a  call  in  the 
evening.  All  my  days  might  be  described  with  ditto, 
ditto  —  only  Mrs.  Bell  comes  oftenest  and  stays  long- 
est. I  am  reading  lots  of  old  books  and  a  few  new  ones 
—  new  to  me,  I  mean.  Jowetts'  translation  of  Plato's 
"  Republic "  — and  Maurice's  "Kingdom  of  Christ"  and 
Edward  Emerson's  life  of  his  father  and  James  Hinton's 
life  (which  I  read  because  I  am  so  fond  of  his  "  Mystery 
of  Pain  "  —  do  you  know  it,  I  wonder?)  and  Mr.  Balfour's 
"Foundations  of  Belief"  —  one  of  the  books  which,  as 
Mrs.  Bell  says,  "brings  its  crown  to  throw  down."  I 
have  scarcely  left  myself  room  to  crowd  in  my  love  and 
to  tell  you  that  later  in  the  summer  I  count  on  your  com- 
ing down  to  pass  a  night,  or  at  least  to  lunch  with  us. 

In  the  meantime  write  and  tell  me  how  you  are. 

Affectionately, 
ALICE  W.  S. 


Aet.  26  159 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Sunday  Morning. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

So  you  are  really  going  after  all  —  just  as  we  had  de- 
cided that  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  get  off.  I  am  glad 
you  are  —  on  all  your  accounts,  as  you  won't  be  able  to 
help  having  a  good  time  when  once  you  are  off,  but  how 
we  shall  miss  you!  or  rather  the  feeling  that  you  are 
within  reach,  for  Waltham,  from  the  way  its  inhabitants 
treat  us,  might  as  well  be  an  isle  in  unsuspected  seas. 
This  is  a  round-about  way  of  saying  that  if  you  and 
Ethel  don't  come  down  here  and  bid  us  good-bye  you 
may  expect  such  a  voyage  as  the  Ancient  Mariner  had 
after  his  unfriendly  treatment  —  of  that  confiding  alba- 
tross. 

By  the  way  what  a  perfect  morning  this  is!  I  am 
lying  on  my  little  upstairs  piazza  where  I  move  out 
before  breakfast  with  the  line  of  sea  for  background 
and  nothing  but  sky  over  my  head  and  such  a  sweet 
smell  of  warm  pine-needles  and  growing  things  —  no 
more  signs  alas!  of  spring,  but  all  full  summer  tho'  still 
in  its  first  freshness.  Completion  is  always  sad,  isn't 
it?  I  wonder  if  it  wouldn't  take  out  more  than  we 
think  from  our  lives  if  our  happiness  didn't  always  lie 
beyond  —  in  expectancy  and  hope?  But  that's  Brown- 
ing, isn't  it,  with  his  "Who  knows  what's  fit  for  us? 
Had  Fate  proposed  bliss  here  Still  one  must  have  some 
life  beyond  —  Have  a  bliss  to  die  with,  dim  descried  "  — 
and  you'd  probably  rather  hear  prosaic  details  of  how 
well  I  bore  Sunday's  extraordinary  heat,  which  I  did 


160  1895 

without  any  worse  effects  than  a  few  days  of  limp- 
ness every  one  felt.  Mrs.  Bell  said  she  could  only  stare 
vacantly  into  space  like  a  drunken  sphinx  —  and  then 
think  of  a  change  of  more  than  thirty-five  degrees  in 
one  day!!  "And  this  is  life,"  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  apos- 
trophizing space.  Friday  night  I  had  a  pretty  bad  turn 
of  pain  but  I'm  getting  nicely  over  it  —  sleep  generally 
without  sulphonal  and  climb  fourteen  steps  —  back- 
wards, which  is  supposed  to  be  easier.  Besides,  haven't 
I  a  hideous  little  carpet  sedan  chair  come  down  from 
town  on  trial,  which  is  warranted  to  carry  me  over  the 
stairs  without  tipping  or  swaying  —  or  worst  of  all  — 
the  impropriety  of  being  carried  by  Tom  as  you  suggest. 

Space  alone  compels  me  to  pause. 

Most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  E.  P.  SAMPSON. 

MANCHESTER, 
Friday  [July  9]. 
Dearest  Aunt  Florence, 

Our  thoughts  have  been  with  you  day  and  night  — 
with  you  and  Mary.  Words  seem  very  poor  and  mean- 
ingless at  such  a  time  —  in  face  of  such  a  mystery  — 
cruelly  so  if  one  did  not  know  that  those  who  stand 
closest  see  the  vision  in  the  darkness  and  hear  the  voice 
and  so  need  no  human  speech  to  comfort  them.  No 
matter  how  long  foreseen,  Death  always  comes  unex- 
pected —  with  awful  suddenness,  but  these  years  of  pain 
and  weakness  and  limitations,  so  bravely  borne,  must 
have  made  you  see  it  differently  when  at  last  the  long 


Aet.  26  161 

hard  fight  was  over  and  the  victory  won.  One  goes 
down  to  the  brink  of  the  river  with  one  who  has  been 
long  ill,  as  the  friends  of  Mr.  Ready-to-Halt  did  with 
him,  seeing  with  his  eyes  the  chariots  and  horses  on  the 
other  side  and  hearing  the  last  words  he  was  heard  to 
say  —  "  Welcome  life  !  " 

The  triumphant  certainty  that  ' '  'tis  death  is  dead,  not 
he,"  and  that  mortality  has  indeed  been  "swallowed 
up  of  life,"  must  have  been  close  to  you  these  terrible 
days.  It  must  be  as  if  in  a  sense  you  had  died  too,  and 
you  will  be  able  to  look  on  your  grief  and  the  piece  of 
life  that  is  left  in  the  light  of  that  new  knowledge. 

May  God  help  and  comfort  you. 

Your  loving  niece, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER,  July  18th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  Manchester  was 
founded,  and  some  time  earlier  Governor  Winthrop 
may  have  stopped  here  on  his  way  to  Salem  and  re- 
ceived strawberries  and  birch-bark  baskets  from  the 
Indians  —  at  all  events  he  is  going  to  today  and  this 
quiet  town  is  in  an  uproar.  My  crazy  family  left 
the  house  at  eight  this  morning  when  "Masconomo" 
and  his  tribes  begin  to  assemble  —  then  the  * '  good  ship 
Arbella  "  is  sighted  at  nine  and  Governor  Winthrop  (in 
the  person  of  Mr.  Dana)  with  twenty  pilgrim-fathers 
in  steeple-crown  hats  come  ashore  in  small  boats  and  are 
received  with  dances  and  war-whoops.  —  Speeches,  din- 
ing, flower-parades  and  fire  works  fill  up  the  rest  of  the 


162  1895 

day,  and  Mr.  Russell  Sturgis,  who  is  marshal,  will  be  in 
the  height  of  his  glory.  Mrs.  Higginson  had  a  dance 
last  night  for  a  whole  house  full  of  boys  and  girls  and 
today  she  is  exhibiting  antiquities  of  Manchester  in 
her  school  house,  tho'  Mrs.  Pratt  said  she  had  supposed 
she  and  Mrs.  Bell  were  the  only  antiquities  Manchester 
could  boast.  You  see  by  all  this  that  one  needn't  cross 
the  ocean  to  find  the  romantic  Past.  How  are  you  all, 
I  wonder?  In  the  spirit  of  the  Farmer's  Almanac  we 
have  written  across  our  mental  calendar,  ' '  Expect  a  let- 
ter about  this  time"  —  and  bless  that  kitten!  I  could 
write  more  easily  if  she  didn't  dart  up  and  down  my 
arm  and  make  dabs  at  my  pen.  She  is  getting  so  big 
and  lively  now  that  no  power  on  earth  can  stop  her 
playing  with  anything  that  strikes  her  as  amusing,  as 
poor  Hamlet  knows  to  his  cost,  and  I  too.  Just  now 
his  tail  and  my  writing  things  have  fallen  under  her 
favorable  notice. 


To  MRS.  E.  P.  SAMPSON. 

MANCHESTER, 

Sunday,  July  20. 
Dear  Aunt  Florence, 

I  thought  that  sometime  you  might  like  to  read  this 
note  which  I  had  from  Mrs.  Whitman  a  week  ago,  and 
then  will  you  kindly  send  it  back,  as  I  should  like  to 
keep  it?  Mrs.  Whitman  is  a  person  to  whom  anyone 
in  trouble  or  bewilderment  turns  as  instinctively  as  a 
flower  turns  to  the  light,  and  they  never  turn  to  her  in 
vain. 

Dear  Aunt  Florence,  you  have  been  much  on  our 
hearts  and  will  be  during  these  days  and  weeks  when 


Aet.  26  163 

the  grief  grows  heavier  because  it  seems  realer  and  the 
loneliness  makes  itself  felt.  This  sad  death  of  Mr. 
Arthur  Brooks  makes  us  all  the  more  grateful  that 
dear  Robert  was  at  home  among  his  own  people  and 
that  you  were  called  on  to  face  the  first  freshness  of 
your  loss  among  the  quiet  hills  with  the  fields  and  sun- 
sets to  speak  to  you  what  no  spoken  words  can  say.  I 
remember  what  a  comfort  the  changing  lights  on  the 
sea  and  sky  used  to  be  to  me  two  summers  ago,  tho'  I 
could  only  get  the  afterglow  and  just  a  bit  of  scarlet 
behind  the  pines  at  sunset.  All  that  glory  and  peace 
seemed  like  a  foretaste. 

Mamma  tells  me  you  have  such  beautiful  views  —  it 
is  pleasant  even  to  think  of  them  and  of  your  garden. 
The  roses  that  you  sent  me  were  lovely  for  two  or  three 
days  and  the  sweet-pease  kept  even  longer.  You  have 
Mr.  Brooks's  sermons,  haven't  you?  If  by  any  chance 
you  have  not,  may  I  send  you  the  first  volume  with 
three  or  four  marked  which  I  am  sure  would  be  com- 
forting? 

We  long  to  hear  just  how  you  are  and  how  Mary  is 
bearing  up.  Bravely,  I  know.  Henry  must  be  a  help 
and  comfort  to  you  now. 

Most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MBS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Saturday,  Aug.  10. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Here  I  am  a  poor  solitary  deprived  of  her  sister  for 
three  whole  days  and  only  half  a  person  in  consequence. 


164  1895 

Of  course  we  made  as  much  fuss  about  it  as  if  she  were 
going  on  an  Arctic  expedition  instead  of  just  to  pass 
Sunday  with  Dickson  at  Grerrish  Island  (and  a  dinner  at 
York  Harbor  with  Bessie  Foster  thrown  in). 

Paulina  wanted  to  get  back  Monday,  for  that  is  her 
twenty-third  birthday,  and  what  do  you  think?  —  only 
promise  not  to  tell  her  before  the  day  —  that  dear  old 
Mr.  Curtis  is  going  to  give  her  some  bit  of  handsome 
jewelry — an  idea  invented  entirely  out  of  his  own  head, 
"a  sort  of  wedding  present,"  he  explained,  and  when 
Mrs.  Curtis  suggested  that  he  might  be  called  on  some 
day  for  a  real  one  he  said  he  would  get  her  that  too. 
Perhaps  he  thought  it  safe  to  chance  that  at  this  late 
date.  And  now  what  gleanings  has  Paulina  left  me  in 
the  way  of  news? 

Let  me  change  the  subject  and  ask  if  you  know  a 
most  superb  poem  by  one  Thompson  called  the  ' '  Hound 
of  Heaven,"  but  of  course  you  do.  It's  only  this  family 
that  devotes  itself  entirely  to  what  Sydney  Smith  called 
ante-flood  literature  —  which  reminds  me  that  I've  just 
finished  Maurice's  "Kingdom  of  Christ"  and  feel  as  if 
I  were  parting  with  an  old  friend.  George  ought  to 
read  it  sometime,  if  he  hasn't  already.  I'm  sure  he 
would  find  it  most  interesting  and  satisfying.  Of  course 
it  is  the  sort  of  book  one  has  to  lie  on  one's  stomach  to 
read  comfortably  and  so  it  has  been  my  companion  all 
summer  in  consequence.  But  there,  I  won't  give  you  a 
whole  card  catalogue  of  all  the  books  we  are  reading. 
We  were  interested  tho'  to  find  —  for  Paulina  and  Mrs. 
Bell  and  I  have  just  got  thro'  this  new  life  of  Mary 
Shelley  —  that  Mr.  Yeats-Brown  knew  Trelawney  and 


Aet.  26  165 

that  his  father  knew  both  Byron  and  Shelley  when  they 
were  in  Italy  —  that  Shelley's  house,  to  which  he  was 
going  when  he  was  drowned,  is  the  next  point  to  them. 
The  Browns  knew  Garibaldi  too  —  their  nephew  went 
with  him  to  Sicily — in  fact  they  open  a  delightful  vista 
of  familiar  names  near  to  (what  a  weird  figure  of  speech 
that  is!)  It  sounds  like  the  lawyer  who  said,  "We  are 
now  embarked  upon  that  feature  of  the  case  on  which 
the  whole  matter  hinges."  But  my  time  and  my  paper 
are  both  coming  to  a  close  and  I  haven't  begun  to  say 
what  I  wanted  to  say. 

It  was  so  nice  to  get  your  long  letter  and  to  be  able 
to  fancy  you  in  lovely  places  not  unfamiliar.  We  went 
to  Salisbury  and  Raglan,  and  passed  two  days  rowing 
down  the  Wye  as  far  as  Chepstow  in  that  trip  from  one 
Cathedral  to  another  when  Papa  said  he  felt  no  day  was 
really  full  unless  he  had  seen  at  least  one  crypt.  With 
our  mind's  eye  too  we  shall  be  able  to  see  Chatsworth 
and  Haddon  and  the  Peacock  Inn  at  Rowsley  with  you, 
but  alas!  the  Lakes  on  one  side  and  Devonshire  on  the 
other  are  dim.  That  journey  which  we  took  all  together 
remains  like  a  green  spot  in  my  memory,  as  I  am  sure 
this  trip  will  in  yours.  Not  but  what  I  don't  wish 
sometimes  that  Europe  had  never  been  invented  to  rob 
me  of  my  friends.  Fancy  four  long  winter  months  with- 
out Mrs.  Bell.  In  the  meanwhile  she  is  more  delight- 
ful than  ever  and  more  devoted.  Tuesday  she  took 
supper  here  with  Mr.  Hooper,  and  Thursday  morning 
she  called,  and  Friday  afternoon,  and  tomorrow  she  is 
coming,  she  says,  as  well  as  today.  Mrs.  Higginson 
and  Mrs.  Whitman  come  between  whiles,  as  well  as 
Hoopers  and  Curtises  and  all  those  casual  people  who 
come  to  "five  o'clock  Mosquito  "  with  me  on  my  mound. 


166  1895 

I  keep  pretty  well  —  indeed,  very  well  for  me,  and  am 
perfectly  revelling  in  this  delicious  summer  which  seems 
to  be  made  for  me.  Bright  sunny  days  without  heat 
and  without  thunder  storms. 

I  ought  to  stop  but  hate  to  tho'  the  pen  wobbles. 
Ethel  is  a  dear  faithful  thing  to  write  so  much  and  so 
often.  Please  give  her  and  Lily  my  dearest  love  and 
with  much  to  yourself  from  Mamma  and  me. 

Very  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Thursday,  Oct.  10. 
Dear  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Here's  a  royal  morning  —  perhaps  a  royal  purple 
morning  would  be  more  appropriate,  to  judge  by  the 
noses  of  the  chilled  admirers  of  the  shining  sky  and  sea. 
I  think  of  going  out  for  a  little  drive  at  twelve  —  per- 
haps to  sit  upon  my  beach.  I  can't  think  it  is  for  the 
last  time  nor  that  this  lovely  summer  is  almost  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Paulina  has  brought  me  in  a  great  arm- 
ful of  crimson  oak-branches  and  golden  beeches  but 
neither  that  nor  this  cold  can  convince  me  that  autumn 
is  really  upon  us.  The  troops  of  trunks  in  the  hall 
and  other  companion-discomforts  are  an  unpleasant  re- 
minder. What  has  happened  since  you  went?  I  have 
had  a  nice  call  from  Mrs.  Whitman,  and  Tuesday  (in  the 
rain)  Paulina  and  I  went  down  to  Mrs.  Pratts  to  hear 
her  and  Mrs.  Bell  play,  and  spent  the  most  delightful 
hour.  They  were  just  alone,  and  welcomed  us  in  that 
pleasant  parlor  of  theirs  with  a  big  wood  fire  and  a  cat 


Aet.  26  167 

before  it,  to  give  the  last  homelike  touch,  and  then  they 
played  us  a  beautiful  thing  of  Schubert's  and  a  move- 
ment from  Beethoven's  Second  Symphony  and  a  polo- 
naise of  Rubenstein's.  I  told  Mrs.  Bell  it  was  like  being 
cut  adrift  from  my  aching  old  body  for  awhile  and  al- 
lowed to  drift  on  an  ocean  of  beauty  and  light.  What 
their  music  must  have  been  to  those  two  in  the  midst 
of  anxiety  and  sorrows  and  disappointments.  A  new 
world  above  the  dust  and  turmoil  —  and  wings  to  reach 
it  with. 

I  hope  you  are  coming  back  rested  and  refreshed,  but 
don't  write.  I  am  looking  forward  to  a  week  from 
Sunday,  when  I  hope  to  see  you  in  my  own  room.  Till 

then  and  always 

Your  most  loving 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

FAYERWEATHER  ST., 
CAMBRIDGE!!!   [October]  Thursday. 

Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  sent  a  pencil  scrawl  to  mamma  last  night  by  Dick- 
son,  but  my  first  note  shall  be  to  you. 

How  I  wish  you  could  see  me  here  in  my  little  Japan- 
ese sitting  room  filled  with  flowers  and  pretty  things,  or 
still  better  in  the  big  bed-room  next  door  with  its  four 
windows  facing  sunset  and  the  distant  hills.  A  cock 
in  their  own  hen-yard  was  the  first  sound  I  heard  this 
morning  and  I  looked  straight  out  miles  away  to  where 
the  blue  rim  of  hills  lay  misty  in  sunlight.  I  don't  feel 
as  if  I  had  ever  seen  the  sky  before!  —  I  have  Mrs.  Gur- 
ney's  room  and  it  is  full  of  beautiful  things  and  so  big 


168  1895 

and  white  and  gold,  with  a  great  Richardson  mantel 
piece  and  fire  place,  but  all  that  I  will  tell  you  of  later. 
The  pictures  downstairs  and  up  are  like  a  new  world 
to  me.  If  it  wasn't  for  certain  human  tugs  at  my 
heart-strings  who  can  tell  whether  I  should  ever  return 
to  my  small,  dingy  home?  Their  coachman  came  in 
and  brought  us  out  at  noon  and  we  had  a  long  bask  in 
the  sun  before  luncheon.  Ellen  is  dearer  than  ever,  and 
all  the  little  sisters  and  Mr.  Hooper.  New  scenes  don't 
make  one  forget  old  affections,  do  they?  and  you  are 

always  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 

Your 

ALICE. 
Ellen  sends  her  best  love. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

FAYERWEATHER  ST., 

CAMBRIDGE!!!   Thursday  [October  24]. 
My  N'Elinor, 

I  told  Bella  I  should  drop  you  a  line  from  here  and 
so  here  it  is.  What  do  you  think  of  it?  as  Mrs.  Bell 
would  say.  I'm  lying  in  the  little  Japanese  sitting 
room,  surrounded  by  all  the  luxuries  of  the  season,  in- 
cluding pinks  and  violets  and  lilies-of-the-valley  and 
Maillard  candy  —  the  last  two  a  present  from  Mr. 
Hooper.  I  sleep  in  a  beautiful  Cathedral  next  door 
and  to  cross  from  my  fire  to  my  looking  glass  have 
to  put  on  seven-league  bed  slippers.  I  try  hard  not 
to  be  proud  and  to  remember  with  kindness  my  dingy 
old  home  and  my  dingy  old  friends.  Nothing  could  be 
sweeter  than  the  dear  little  Hoopers  except  our  Ellen — 
She  is  as  pleased  and  anxious  over  me  as  a  boy  with  — 
say  a  baby-zebra. 


Aet.  26  169 

Today  I  go  down  to  see  Mr.  Cony  Smith  and  his  fam- 
ily at  the  Warren.  (Did  we  tell  you,  by  the  way,  that 
Dickson's  dog  had  had  her  litter  —  consisting  of  what  do 
you  think?  one  sickly  female  and  no  more?  The  joke 
is  worth  the  price  of  admission  —  to  his  family  at  least.) 

Tomorrow  Mrs.  James  dines  here,  and  Dr.  Bigelow. 
Mr.  James  alas!  couldn't  come.  Give  my  love  to  Bella 

and  Fanny. 

Your  loving 

Miss  NAN. 
To  HER  MOTHER. 

FAYERWEATHER  ST., 
CAMBRIDGE  ! ! !     Friday  Morning. 

My  own  darling  Momb, 

We  received  your  note  and  the  Important  mail  with 
joy.  So  our  Sans-Gene  did  miss  us,  the  dear,  and  you 
like  an  aged  duck  went  and  fetched  her  down  before 
breakfast!  She  must  have  miowed  pretty  loud,  I'm 
afraid  —  or  was  Nunc  dancing  a  war-dance  in  the  upper 
entry?  Is  he  going  to  Bolton  Sunday?  —  I  do  wish  he 
could  see  me  here!  — 

Today  is  obligingly  dark  and  grim  as  I  couldn't  go 
down  at  noon,  but  I  am  saving  myself  up  for  dinner, 
when  Ellen  expects  Mrs.  James  and  Dr.  Bigelow  (if  a 
bad  cold  permits  him  to  appear).  Yesterday  I  went 
down  at  twelve  and  sat  out  in  the  sun  for  nearly  two 
hours  and  was  carried  up  before  lunch.  A  week-old 
calf  was  brought  in  from  the  barn  to  call  on  me  —  just 
think  of  that!  —  and  we  are  waked  by  the  crowing  of 
Hooper  cocks.  Every  afternoon  we  see  the  sunset  over 
Arlington  Heights. 


170  1895 

Dickson  has  told  you  how  I  spent  the  promised  hour 
with  him  and  how  delighted  I  was  with  his  house,  but 
he  can't  have  told  you  how  pleased  I  was  with  his  clus- 
ter of  chicks  —  little  Melville,  dancing  in  an  ecstacy  be- 
fore the  baby  and  stroking  her  face,  made  the  prettiest 
picture.  She  is  a  perfect  dear  —  and  he  is  splendid. 
I  am  happy  and  not  homesick.  Like  those  shipwrecked 
Greeks  on  Circe's  island  we  are  saved  from  enchant- 
ment only  by  the  sprig  of  "Moly"  in  our  bosoms. 

Kiss  all  four  pets  for  me. 

Your 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  S.  HOOPER. 

Thursday  [October  31]. 
My  Ellen, 

I  hope  you  miss  us  and  feel  a  slight  pang  when  you 
run  upstairs  with  your  hands  full  of  nuts  only  to  find 
the  tin  shelf  empty  and  the  wire  wheel  still? 

It  seems  so  strange  to  be  without  you  and  I  haven't 
realized  yet  that  my  visit  is  over.  But  that  it  only  is 
in  one  sense.  The  week  went  all  too  swiftly,  but  your 
home  will  be  a  home  to  my  spirit  for  many  a  long  day. 

Kiss  all  the  girls  for  me  and  beg  them  not  to  forget  us. 

I  feel  utterly  unable  to  express  what  being  among 
you  all  has  meant  to  me.  It  has  enlarged  my  visible 
world  so  much  and  left  a  sunny  green  spot  in  my  mem- 
ory. "  My  eyes  see  pictures  when  they  are  shut." 

It  is  as  if  you  had  broken  a  big  gap  in  my  prison 
walls  and  let  in  the  sky.  You  know  without  my  tell- 
ing you  that  all  the  beautiful  new  world  it  opened  to 
me  is  doubly  dear  and  sacred  as  bringing  me  closer  to 
you  and  to  your  past. 


Aet.  26  171 

Dearest  Ellen,  you  must  let  me  tell  you  just  this 
once!  —  your  love  is  a  thing  I  thank  God  for  when  I 
wake  and  pray  to  be  worthier  of.  I  do  love  you. 

NANNY. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

Sunday  Evening  [November]. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Ethel  has  probably  told  you  how  she  found  us  (like 

's  baby  on  the  tin  roof) ' '  close  to  nature  "  this 

sunny  morning?  It  is  really  going  to  be  a  good  place 
for  me  to  get  the  air  easily  when  not  hung  in  serried 
ranks  with  wet  underclothing.  There  are  "shy  "  birds 
in  the  shape  of  sparrows,  and  green  in  the  yards  below 
and  a  tiny  glimpse  of  hills  with  the  branches  of  Ropes's, 
the  grocer's,  elm  to  see  them  through  —  You  see  my 
Cambridge  visit  hasn't  spoilt  me  for  lesser  beauties?  — 
tho'  there  I  had  four  windows  facing  sunset  and  Arling- 
ton Heights  —  to  say  nothing  of  grass  and  bushes  and  a 
vegetable  garden  which  are  all  as  new  and  delightful  to 
me  as  the  sunset  itself.  What  that  visit  was  to  me  I 
can't  tell  you,  and  it  is  going  to  be  an  unending  source 
of  joy  and  refreshment  to  me.  My  prison  walls  have 
had  a  big  gap  made  in  them,  I  tell  Ellen,  and  I  have 
had  a  glimpse  into  a  new  world  of  visible  beauty.  The 
pictures  and  the  sunshine — the  sense  of  space,  and  above 
all,  the  love  and  kindness. 

I  couldn't  love  Ellen  better  than  I  did,  but  it  has 
brought  me  closer  to  her  and  her  past.  The  little  sis- 
ters and  Mr.  Hooper  are  as  sweet  as  they  can  be,  and 
the  whole  place  has  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  quiet 
that  is  like  a  backwater  out  of  the  current  of  a  stream, 


172  1895 

or  like  Dante's  earthly  paradise  at  the  summit  of  Purga- 
tory where  he  meets  Beatrice  in  the  meadow.  Ellen  is 
Beatrice  to  me. 

Dear  Mrs.  Paine,  I  did  so  long  to  have  you  see  me 
there,  but  still  more  I  longed  to  see  you  Friday  —  the 
day  of  all  days,  mamma  says,  when  she  most  misses 
Mr.  Brooks. 

To  me  the  great  Church  days  are  the  days  when  he 
seems  closer  to  us  —  the  Mounts  of  Vision  when  above 
and  beyond  the  mists  one  can  see  into  the  Promised 
Land.  They  give  me  strength  for  the  long,  long  times 
when  it  seems  as  if  we  were  "  steaming  across  the  sea  of 
life  by  night, "  or  wandering  in  a  desert  like  sheep  with- 
out a  shepherd.  The  times  when  one  feels  that  "the 
strong  hours  conquer  us"  and  that  one  is  not  acting 
worthily  of  so  sacred  a  grief  or  the  great  hopes  before 
us. 

It  is  so  hard  to  do  what  Maurice  calls  turning  '  *  a  dead 
anguish  into  a  living  passion."  One's  heart  faints  so 
sometimes.  The  church  bells  on  a  sunny  afternoon  are 
like  a  fresh  knell.  One  can't  realize  that  the  world  is 
going  on  and  he  not  here  —  the  arch  still  standing  and 
the  key-stone  gone.  I  try  hard  to  think  of  that  other 
Temple.  The  bond  that  binds  those  who  love  him  is 
only  stronger  as  the  days  go  by,  I  think.  It  makes  me 

turn  to  you. 

Always  most  affectionately, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  27  173 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Monday,  10  A.M. 
Dearest  Twee, 

You  are  getting  near  Washington  by  this  time,  while 
I  sit  in  the  empty  cage  moping  for  my  bird!  I  might 
say  the  seed  and  water  were  untasted  and  the  swing 
stood  idle  in  its  stall,  but  it  would  not  be  true!  We 
are  doing  as  well  as  can  be  expected.  Last  evening  we 
were  able  to  say  "Now  she  is  reaching  the  '  Newtons,' " 
but  as  I  was  balked  as  to  Albany  I  was  able  to  trace  you 
no  further  into  the  night.  Then  we  played  you  were 
simply  "out"  —  listening  to  music  at  the  Cabot's  per- 
haps —  but  Hamlet  was  to  be  taken  in  by  no  such  pre- 
tence. Not  even  a  lilac  rosette  as  a  token  of  respect 
to  "Old  Truepenny"  would  have  cheered  that  gloom. 
Sans-Gene  slept  on  my  arm,  and  at  night  "Nature," 
as  Renan  would  say,  "  mercifully  chloroformed  us  all." 
But  she  did  miss  you  this  morning,  Gammardge  says,  and 
after  she  came  in  here  trotted  back  to  see  why  Aunt 
Tomahawk  wasn't  following.  She  has  composed  the 
following  ballad  to  be  sung  to  the  pibroch  of  her  race 
—  the  song  without  a  tune,  '  *  Had  I  but  wist  before  I 
hissed  and  known  how  hard  Aunt  T'hawk  was  to  skin, 
I'd  have  put  my  claws  in  a  case  of  gold  and  pinned 
them  with  a  safety  pin." 

And  news?  I  might  tell  you  how  the  Higginsons  and 
Careys  and  the  Conger-Eel  dropped  in  last  evening  and 
that  Satty  F. ,  Joe  Smith  and  Dr.  Bigelow  are  coming  to 
take  second  breakfast  with  me  "  dejeuner  a  la  cuiller," 
but  I  am  afraid  you  would  think  it  was  a  "statistic." 
Perhaps  you  might  think  it  another  if  I  told  you  I  had 
got  a  letter  from  Bay  this  morning  but  that  is  a  sober 
fact.  What  do  you  think  of  it,  as  Mrs.  Bell  would  say? 


174  1896 

Judge  sends  two  pecks  for  self  and  Valty,  and  the  rest 

of  us  send  kisses. 

Your 

NANNY. 
To  HER  SISTER. 

"HOME  —  HOME." 

Wednesday  Morn. 
Dearest  Twee, 

From  a  correspondiacal  point  of  view  Momb  is  like  the 
Lubber-fiend  who  drinks  "  the  cream-bowl  duly  set."  In 
this  part  of  the  world  night  is  a  quiet  season  and  not 
much  happens  between  six,  when  her  letter  goes  out, 
and  ten  the  next  morning,  when  I  write  mine.  Yes, 
Mrs.  Whitman  came  after  she  had  signed  and  sealed 
and  delivered,  and  I  am  just  forwarding  you  a  letter 
from  her.  She  said  your  note  was  about  the  dearest 
she  had  had.  She  said  many  other  things  of  which  I 
will  tell  you  when  we  meet. 

Did  you  know  we  had  absolutely  finished  Stratford 
Canning?  I  told  mamma  I  was  going  to  put  on  my 
fur  mittens  and  turn  a  somersault!  A  duller  work,  but 
then,  as  I  told  her,  ' '  the  longest  Lane-Poole  has  a  turn- 
ing." 

This  morning  your  second  letter  arrived  and  the  sou- 
venir portraits.  "  Quelle  joie  pour  Jacob  quelle  alle- 
gresse  pour  Israel."  Also  Kebecca  Allen  wishes  you  to 
take  part  in  some  theatricals  for  the  G.  F.  S.  (shade  of 
Charlotte  Yonge  think  of  that!)  on  the  15th  which  we 
have  ventured  to  decline  for  you.  I  wonder  how  much 
of  the  money  would  have  gone  to  the  Girls'  Friendly 
and  how  much  to  your  manager? 


Aet.  27  175 

I  have  invented  a  new  question  I  put  to  mamma  "  Why 
do  I  love  you?  because  you  are  Tweeby's  mother." 

We  all  send  love.  Sans-Gene  has  been  climbing  her 
tree  in  hopes  that  her  missing  Tomahawk  may  be  lodged 

among  the  branches. 

Your 

"  NANNY." 

To  HER  SISTER. 

A  Sunny  Saturday. 
Oh!  my  darling  Twee, 

Shan't  I  be  glad  to  get  you  back  all  fat  and  rested 
and  with  no  fall  or  spring,  winter  or  midsummer  — 
nerves!  Your  Thursday  letter  has  just  come,  and  what  a 
nice  time  you  are  having  —  but  where  is  Slidell  Rogers 
and  where  is  Hugo  Gough? 

Those  Curtises  have  made  a  few  score  more  pleasant 
friends,  including,  whom  do  you  think?  The  great 
Flinders  Petrie  in  his  own  diggings,  where  they  shook 
his  dusty  paw  —  "  Dodo  "  Benson  acting  Master  of  Cere- 
monies. Did  Mamma  tell  you  I  had  a  long  letter  from 
them  as  well  as  from  Mrs.  Bell? 

That  cat  is  dearer  than  ever  and  we  hope  you'll  think 
we've  grown.  Yesterday  she  caught  a  cold  and  wouldn't 
eat  —  mamma  sneered  when  I  said  her  throat  was  sore, 
so  privately  I  dosed  her  with  hot  soup  and  brandy  in  a 
spoon  and  it  worked  an  instantaneous  cure.  She  and 
Hamlet  send  a  simultaneous  kiss!  I  enclose  this  little 
scrap  of  the  Symphony  Concert  in  Cambridge  Thurs- 
day which  was  In  Memory  of  Mr.  Brimmer  —  "a  most 
beautiful  thought,"  Mrs.  Whitman  said,  "like  Henry 


176  1896 

Higginson  and  him  only. "  —  He  sent  her  a  ticket  and 
they  sat  together.  Ellen  said  it  was  most  beautiful, 
Ellen  had  also  seen  the  Delacroix  Pieta  and  thinks  it 
magnificent.  Full  of  splendid  color  and  feeling  and 
the  figures  and  faces  very  fine  —  a  really  beautiful 
thing.  I  ought  to  make  a  neat  finish  and  eat  my 
second  breakfast,  and  Sans-Gene  clamors  to  have  her 

' '  tomatry  "  thrown. 

Your 

NAN. 
Love  always  and  in  quantities  to  Mrs.  Lodge. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Second  Blank  Thursday, 

May  7th,  1896. 
My  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

It  was  nice  enough  to  get  your  note  from  New  York 
tho'  it  was  just  a  leetle  blue.  I  felt  rather  indigoish 
myself  last  week  but  hope  to  get  more  stoical  shortly. 
Better  I  really  am  and  yesterday  bravely  took  three 
steps  up  and  feel  like  a  chamois.  The  afternoon  before 
I  sat  up  dressed  for  two  hours  and  had  an  excellent 
night  afterwards. 

While  you  are  tossing  on  the  deep  surrounded  by  what 
Mrs.  Bell  calls  "a  sort  of  sea-sick  Eternity"  we  are 
jolting  along  the  old  ruts  wondering  whether  the  last 
new  cook  will  stay  with  a,  to  her,  incomprehensible 
oven,  and  whether  the  parlor-maid  will  cease  to  enter  a 

room  as  Mrs.  Bell  says  Mrs. does,  "as  if  pursued 

by  blood-hounds."  However,  as  Paulina  says,  we  can't 
always  expect  to  secure  the  Venus  of  Milo  even  if  she 
didn't  have  serious  disabilities  as  a  waitress.  Could 


Aet.  27  177 

even  her  most  ardent  admirers  call  her  neat-handed? 
However  it  was  Paulina  herself  who  broke  my  pretty 
Cauldon  cup  —  the  one  you  gave  me  with  the  roses  on 
it  and  broke  my  heart  with  it.  I  had  rather  it  had 
been  any  other.  So  you  see,  now  you  are  balked  in 
your  "Gurney  Family"  extravagance,  you  can  be  look- 
ing round  for  a  tea-cup  to  bring  home  to  me,  won't  you. 

I  haven't  got  any  ' '  girl "  to  fill  your  place  and  we  all 

send  heaps  of  love  —  especially 

Your 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  May  14. 
My  own  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Another  week,  and  you  must  be  landing  at  Genoa  to- 
morrow, after  what  sort  of  a  trip,  I  wonder?  I  enclose 
the  poem  which  Mary  Beaumont  found  quoted  in  the 
April  "Quarterly."  Why  did  none  of  us  think  of 
Aubrey  de  Vere?  Not  that  I  know  his  poetry,  but  I 
knew  what  kind  he  wrote,  having  read  much  to  him  and 
of  him  in  Henry  Taylor's  life  and  letters.  Well,  you 
see  every  thing  comes  to  him  who  waits  —  even  friends 
from  abroad,  for  didn't  Mrs.  Whitman  sail  from  Cher- 
bourg last  Friday,  so  that  in  a  day  or  so  we  shall  clasp 
her  in  our  arms? 

Since  I  wrote  you  I  have  been  downstairs  twice  to 
lunch  —  once  Sunday,  when  I  was  driven  out  of  my 
room  by  a  thermometer  at  94  degrees  in  the  shade,  and 
again  Wednesday  when  Ellen  Hooper  and  Helen  and 


178  1896 

Jim  were  here,  which  made  it  quite  a  festive  affair. 
Helen  looked  so  rosy  and  smiling  and  really  well.  I 
still  go  up  my  three  steps  a  day  like  the  ' '  chamois 
fidele."  We  are  changing  cooks  again,  which  is  cheer- 
ful. The  last  says  we  ought  not  to  expect  to  dine  late 
with  a  plain  cook  and  no  kitchen  maid.  We  got  very 
merry  on  the  subject.  A  plain  cook  it  appears  must 
go  to  bed  with  the  birds  —  perhaps  her  looks  won't  bear 
the  gas-light.  Mrs.  Deland's  cook,  who  came  to  Boston 
(in  spectacles)  to  attend  a  course  of  lectures  on  Huxley, 
is  leaving  because  she  says  "to  follow  out  a  written 
receipt  for  soup  is  too  great  an  intellectual  strain"! 

Love  from  all. 

Your  devoted 

ALICE  W.  S. 

"SORROW." 

Count  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave, 
God's  messenger  sent  down  to  thee ;  do  thou 
With  courtesy  receive  him  ;  rise  and  bow, 
And,  ere  his  shadow  pass  thy  threshold,  crave 
Permission  first  his  heavenly  feet  to  lave  ; 
Then  lay  before  him  all  thou  hast ;  allow 
No  cloud  of  passion  to  usurp  thy  brow, 
Or  mar  thy  hospitality  ;  no  wave 
Of  mortal  tumult  to  obliterate 

The  soul's  marmoreal  calmness.     Grief  should  be, 
Like  joy,  majestic,  equable,  sedate ; 
Confirming,  cleansing,  raising,  making  free, 
Strong  to  consume  small  troubles,  to  commend 
Great  thoughts,  grave  thoughts,  thoughts 

Lasting  till  the  end. 

AUBREY  DE  VERB. 


Aet.  27  179 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

"OLD  HOMESTEAD"  —  MANCHESTER, 
Thursday,  May  28th. 

Well,  dear  Mrs.  Dexter  here  we  are! — and  already 
in  these  two  days  quite  settled  and  comfortable.  Paul- 
ina and  two  of  the  servants,  Sans-Gene  and  one  bird, 
came  down  on  the  ten  o'clock  train,  and  by  the  time 
Mamma  and  Uncle  Melville  and  I  and  the  rest  of  the 
household  appeared,  at  five,  eight  trunks  had  been 
emptied  and  carried  'off  and  my  room,  at  least,  looked 
as  familiar  and  homelike  as  if  we  had  slipped  back  into 
last  summer.  I  never  moved  so  easily,  —  taking  the 
wheeled  chair  to  the  car,  where  Dickson  lifted  me  neatly 
in.  Dr.  Washburn  was  here  to  greet  me  and  found  my 
pulse  strong  and  steady.  Am  I  an  arch-humbug  or  was 
I  intended  for  a  globe-trotter?  Now  I  am  lying  on  my 
little  upstairs  piazza  with  such  sights  and  sounds  about 
me  "in  the  wood's  green  heart,"  but  alas!  it  is  full 
summer  —  summer  at  its  freshest  and  richest,  to  be 
sure,  but  missing  the  mystery  and  subtle  beauty  of 
Spring.  We  stayed  too  late  in  town.  Besides,  in  the 
midst  of  Nature  we  miss  a  little  figure  who  used  to 
come  trotting  up  the  road  with  all  the  wealth  of  genius 
along  with  her!  —  I  haven't  heard  from  her  since  Mrs. 
Whitman  left.  She  then  wrote  that  "Mrs.  Whitman 
had  been  rushing  on  the  winds  and  she  after  her,  tied  to 
one  wing  by  simple  twine,"  which  sounds  like  her. 
Before  going  to  meet  her  she  wrote  me  that  so  many 
friends  had  died  that  she  could  scarcely  believe  she 
"should  do  more  than  ineffectually  grasp  a  shadowy 
hand  in  the  fields  of  asphodel,  but  one  glance  into  Mrs. 
Whitman's  friendly  eyes  would  disperse  the  shades." 


180  1896 

Mrs.  Higginson  is  our  greatest  comfort  and  as  de- 
voted as  tiresome  doctor's  rules  will  permit;  noon  baths 
— entire  rest — long  naps  and  few  people.  Shall  you  go 
that  tunnelly  route  from  Genoa  and  Venice  that  Mark 
Twain  said  was  like  travelling  thro'  a  flute  and  blowing 
thro'  the  ends?  but  that's  a  foolish  question,  as  I  re- 
member now  you  go  to  Venice  after  Florence  and  so  on. 
Keep  well  and  happy,  too,  if  you  can  and  don't  forget 
us  all.  Mamma  sends  her  best  love. 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Thursday,  June  llth. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Paulina  and  I  were  sitting  out  at  five  o'clock  last 
Thursday,  on  our  little  mound  before  the  porch,  when 
your  Florence  letter  was  brought  us  with  a  long  one 
from  Joe  Smith  at  Parma  —  and  the  mound  with  all  its 
rocks  and  pines  and  columbines  turned  to  a  "  wishing 
carpet "  and  we,  too,  for  a  few  minutes  were  in  Italy. 

Whitsunday  was  our  last  Sunday  in  Boston,  and  when 
we  read  the  new  sermon  we  thought  that  you  were 
reading  it,  too,  and  the  ocean  shrank  —  or  seemed  to 
shrink — to  a  mere  thread  of  water — just  a  pathway  to 
bring  your  constant  greetings.  Yesterday  it  brought 
those  dear  Benozzo  Gozzoli  angels  with  a  silent  message 
of  love.  I  am  so  glad  the  pictures  are  a  help  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  that  must  be  sad  and  strange  to  your 
aching  heart,  and  I  hope  a  great  deal  from  the  hills  when 
you  are  settled  down  quietly  among  them.  Mrs.  Whit- 


Aet.  27  181 

man  moves  down  tomorrow  and  I  dread  the  first  com- 
ing for  her  —  or  should  if  she  wasn't  so  full  of  her  own 
work  for  the  Memorial  window  and  all  the  work  she 
does  for  others.  Ellen  Hooper  and  Paulina  hope  to 
have  her  house  bright  with  flowers  —  for  Ellen  is  with  us 
now,  having  come  for  what  Mrs.  Paine  calls  ' '  a  visitor's 
week,"  from  Monday  to  Saturday.  Up  to  today,  which 
is  beautiful,  we  have  had  nothing  but  deluge,  and  Ellen 
must  have  felt  as  if  she  were  visiting  the  Noahs  on 
Mount  Ararat,  especially  as  they  too  must  have  lived  in 
the  closest  companionship  with  their  pets.  Sunday  Paul- 
ina saw  Mary  Beaumont  and  later  she  is  to  make  her  a 
little  visit  in  Newport.  She  hopes  to  get  down  here  to 
see  me  but  I'm  afraid  she  ought  not.  Bessie  Foster  gets 
home  today  and  I  am  better  both  in  health  and  spirits. 
I  enclose  a  poem  of  Jack  Chapman's  on  Mr.  Brimmer 
because  it  is  so  beautiful. 

Love  from  all,  especially  from 

Your 
ALICE. 

TO  M.  B. 

The  mask  of  life  is  fallen  —  Behold  the  man  ! 

Such  was  he  and  so  is.     How  easily 

Do  all  the  accidents  of  earth  drop  off ; 

And  as  they  fall,  the  Immortality  — 

The  soul  departs  to  —  shines  through  the  clay. 

Severe,  calm,  dominant ;  a  general 

Frail,  yet  the  very  manifest  of  Power. 

A  look  of  life-long  conquest  in  his  brow, 

Christ  militant !     Thy  soldier  ;  as  he  lies, 

Not  for  our  eyes  this  bearing,  but  for  Thine. 


182  1896 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Monday,  15th  Pluviose. 

Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Paulina  was  just  on  the  point  of  writing  Ethel  when 
I  seized  the  pen  from  her  hand  —  not  thinking  that 
Walthara  could  bear  two  letters  from  so  newsless  a 
spot.  Did  you  ever  see  such  depressing  weather?  We 
told  Ellen,  who  left  us  Saturday,  that  she  must  have 
felt  as  if  she  had  been  passing  "a  visitor's  week"  with 
the  Noahs  —  a  happy  mixture  of  deluge  and  pets. 

We  hope  she  got  rested  —  amused  she  can't  have 
been,  for  Mrs.  Higginson  had  chosen  that  inopportune 
moment  to  go  off  to  the  Lake  for  ten  days  and  Mrs. 
Whitman  didn't  move  down  till  Friday,  just  in  time  to 
make  us  one  call  and  to  have  her  house  trimmed  up 
with  irises  and  buttercups  and  a  Hooper-y  bay  wreath 
as  welcome.  Oh,  yes,  one  night  Mr.  Higginson  came 
to  supper,  but  for  the  rest  there  was  "  no  band  of  music 
—  nossing." 

Mrs.  Bell  says  ' '  in  the  country  one  is  given  a  piece  of 
string  and  told  to  make  one's  pleasures,"  and  our  pleas- 
ures and  strings,  as  we  warned  Ellen,  are  apt  to  take 
the  form  of  cats'  cradles.  Indeed  we  dwelt  so  much 
on  the  dullness  of  her  visit  beforehand  that  our  proffered 
hospitality  was  rather  after  the  manner  of  the  Todgers' 
boy,  "There's  going  to  be  a  fish  for  dinner —  Don't 
touch  none  of  him." 

Sunday  —  or  rather  a  week  ago  yesterday  —  Paulina 
went  to  town,  lunched  with  Mrs.  Whitman  and  saw 
Mary  Beaumont,  who  had  just  landed.  She  looked 
handsomer  and  more  blooming  than  ever  but  is  poorly. 


Aet.  27  183 

Whether  she  will  be  able  to  get  down  here  to  see  me  is 
rather  doubtful,  but  Paulina  is  to  go  to  her  in  Newport 
for  a  couple  of  nights.  Tell  Ethel  that  ' '  the  old  ship 
Constitution, "  as  Paulina  calls  herself,  is  going  to  Class- 
Day  after  all  —  in  a  new  coat  of  paint. 

Ellen  says  she  is  to  go  with  her  in  the  character  of 
Kip  Van  Winkle's  dog  and  they  find  they  are  both  to 
be  in  the  Class  Colors  as  if  they  were  seventeen  instead 
of  ninety.  Now  she  —  Paulina,  I  mean  —  has  just  put 
a  golosh,  like  Achilles,  upon  her  vulnerable  heel  and 
sallied  forth  to  see  the  Hamlens  or  she  would  send  her 
love.  I  have  been  ill  this  last  day  or  two  but  am  mend- 
ing and  my  mind  is  much  relieved  at  having  got  Bessie 
Foster  safely  home  at  last.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
heard  how  very  sick  she  had  been  in  New  York?  With 
best  love  to  you  all  I  am  always 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MBS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Wednesday,  June  17. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  am  going  to  write  you  now  because  tomorrow  morn- 
ing is  given  over  to  the  sacred  rites  of  hair-washing,  and 
my  letter  mustn't  miss  sailing  on  the  Saturday  boat. 
My  last  was  no  sooner  signed,  sealed  and  delivered  than 
your  first  letter  from  Venice  arrived  and  with  it  a  more 
cheerful  atmosphere.  It  sounded  rested,  happier,  alto- 
gether comforting  to  us  —  and  Mrs.  Dalton  came  in  to 
share  the  good  news.  She  is  as  dear  and  devoted  as 
she  can  be  and  I  like  her  better  every  time  I  see  her. 


184  1896 

I  only  wish  her  head  wasn't  so  troublesome,  but  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  think  of  her  having  Mrs.  Morison  and  those 
nice  children  so  near.  Speaking  of  nice  children,  Dick- 
son  has  just  moved  his  little  brood  up  to  the  Pittsfield 
cottage  and  has  now  come  to  pass  his  summer  with 
us  and  it  is  the  greatest  addition  to  this  quiet  ' '  back- 
water "  of  a  household,  for  he  is  a  most  sunshiny  person, 
ready  to  play  at  anything  with  anybody  and  content 
with  small  pleasures.  He  drives  with  Uncle  Melly  and 
reads  to  mamma  of  an  evening  and  tends  Sans-Gene 
with  Paulina. 

Mrs.  Whitman  we  got  back  to  us  Friday  and  she 
came  up  at  once  and  again  Monday  and  then  this  morn- 
ing for  a  whole  hour  while  Paulina  was  careering  thro' 
Magnolia  woods  with  the  two  men  and  a  most  ecstatic 
Hamlet.  She  was  at  her  dearest  and  brought  me  up 
the  bit  of  glass  she  had  made  for  Fanny  Curtis's  wed- 
ding present  (three  bright  pink  wild  roses)  and  read  me 
bits  of  your  favorite  Walt  Whitman.  Lovely  bits  too. 
Don't  be  afraid!  I'm  not  going  over  to  his  philosophy, 
but  the  little  she  did  read  was  like  having  a  window 
(roughly)  thrown  open  to  a  wide  view  over  rolling 
prairies  with  a  fresh  wind  blowing. 

We  miss  our  dear  Ellen.  I  celebrated  her  departure 
by  an  ill-turn  —  which  has  kept  me  pretty  quiet  ever 
since.  I  am  better  today,  but  how  can  I  expect  to  feel 
very  sprightly  with  my  heart  torn  into  bits  and  sown 
broad-cast  over  Europe?  There's  a  big  bit  with  you  in 
Venice,  so  take  good  care  of  it  and  keep  it  cheerful  and 
well.  The  metaphor  is  mixed  but  my  affection  isn't, 

and  so  good-night. 

From  your 

ALICE. 


Aet.  27  185 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
.     Thursday,  June  25. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Your  last  letter  might  have  been  signed  by  Florence 
Nightingale  if  Florence  Nightingale  was  ever  tired  by  a 
sleepless  night  and  depressed  by  her  invalids!  I  hope 
by  this  time  things  are  looking  up  with  you  and  home 
letters  acting  with  more  thoughtfulness.  I  write  quite 
reg'lar  and  mean  to,  so  if  you  don't  get  news  weekly 
from  this  quiet  spot  lay  the  blame  on  wind  and  tide. 

The  weather  has  been  hot  but  beautiful,  so  that  Class- 
Day  and  Commencement  —  both  at  Radcliffe  and  Har- 
vard— have  had  their  appropriate  setting,  and  now  here 
is  another  cloudless  day  for  Fanny  Curtis's  wedding. 

I  had  a  delightful  Class- Day,  too,  with  Mrs.  Whitman 
a  long  hour  in  the  morning  and  again  in  the  afternoon 
—  pastels  in  hand.  Saturday  and  Sunday  mornings 
she  came  again  and  it  isn't  finished  yet.  I  tell  her  I 
hope  it  will  go  on  leaving  off  at  exciting  places  like  the 
Arabian  Princess's  tales  and  keep  her  with  us  a  thou- 
sand-and-one  nights.  Anything  sweeter  than  she  is  un- 
der a  constant  fire  of  adverse  criticism  I  never  saw  — 
and  contradictory  criticism.  The  trouble  is  she  was  so 
anxious  to  paint  me  in  the  familiar  attitude,  against  the 
light,  that  she  has  undertaken  that  difficult  task,  a  face 
without  lights  or  shadows.  It  is  growing  like  me  now 
but  at  first  it  looked  like  a  very  youthful  beef -eater  in- 
stead of  that  pale  emaciated  young  sufferer  I  had  fan- 
cied myself.  I  have  decided  that  I  am  worse  than  a 
humbug — a  "pillow-sham."  Don't  you  think  that  an 


186  1896 

appropriate  name  for  me?  And  please  don't  go  and 
fancy  me  ill,  when  I  get  down  every  evening  now  and 
sit  up  to  supper  —  first  seeing  my  friends  on  the  mound. 
Mrs.  Higginson  and  Mrs.  Dalton  were  here  last  night 
and  then  Paulina  met  Mrs.  Dalton  again  at  dinner  at 
Mrs.  Whitman's  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merriman  —  always 
myths  to  me.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  delightful  occa- 
sion. Besides  a  few  little  things  like  that  or  rather 
beside  that  itself  —  a  dullness  has  descended  upon  this 
summer  —  a  dullness  that  might  be  felt.  Some  one, 
however,  has  obligingly  taken  the  Pratt  house  for  two 
months,  which  I  hope  means  that  we  shall  get  those 
dear  people  back  in  September.  I  have  a  pen  here 
which  interferes  with  the  flow  of  my  ideas  and  spoils 
a  naturally  sweet  temper,  but  I  love  you  in  spite  of 

all. 

Your 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday,  July  2. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Whitman  came  yesterday  and  fin- 
ished my  picture,  which  Mamma  likes  very  much,  and 
that  is  the  main  thing.  I  like  it  less,  tho'  the  coloring 
and  many  things  are  excellent.  In  the  afternoon  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Higginson  came  up  and  joined  us  on  the  mound 
so  we  felt  we  had  shown  of  our  best  to  Ethel  Paine  who 
is  spending  two  days  with  us.  Then  last  evening  the 
two  girls  walked  over  to  welcome  the  Hoopers  to  these 
parts  —  Hamlet  guiding  them  thro'  the  short-cuts  which 


Aet.  27  187 

are  complicated  at  best  but  in  the  dark  quite  impossible. 
Wasn't  that  dear  of  him  and  he's  not  "been  Hoopers," 
as  he  calls  it,  these  eight  months.  That  reminds  me  that 
you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Sans-Gene  roams  out  of 
doors  three  hours  of  every  day  and  is  as  good  as  gold, 
playing  within  call  and  almost  always  within  sight  of 
her  aunts  as  they  sit  upon  the  mound.  I  continue  to 
get  down  every  afternoon,  and  Monday  spent  an  hour 
on  West  Beach  —  such  a  day!  I  thought  of  you  there. 
Soon  I  am  planning  to  make  Mrs.  Whitman  a  little  call. 
She  has  been  entertaining  a  good  deal  of  late.  Paulina 
went  to  one  tea  and  two  dinners  there  within  a  week 
and  fell  a  victim  to  Mr.  Pumpelly's  charms,  and  today 
the  Chapmans  (with  Victor,  alas!)  and  the  William 
Jameses  arrive  to  pass  "the  Fourth"  —  that  great 
national  hullabaloo  which  you  will  escape. 

Speaking  of  patriotism  generally,  Paulina  and  I  have 
been  reading  the  "Sherman  Letters "  and  John  Ropes's 
"History  of  the  Civil  War,"  and  have  had  to  make  up 
foolish  riddles  to  keep  our  spirits  up.  Here  is  one  of 
them:  "  Who  ought  to  have  commanded  at  the  Battle 
of  Five  Forks?  "  "  General  Butler  —  It  was  originally 
half  a  dozen."  Mr.  Bartlett  was  the  only  person  who 
came  near  to  guessing  it.  He  made  us  a  very  sprightly 
call  the  other  day  and  told  us  a  number  of  funny  stories. 
Apropos  of  my  assuming  my  throne  at  five  o'clock  he 
told  us  of  the  inventive  Yankee  who  called  at  Bucking- 
ham Palace  and  demanded  to  see  the  Queen  —  he  must 
see  her  as  she  needed  something  he  alone  could  supply. 
It  turned  out  that  it  was  the  "  combination  throne-bed  " 
a  bed  by  night  —  throne  by  day.  I  think  of  investing! 
He  also  told  of  the  man  who  was  trying  to  convert  a 
friend  to  Wagner's  music  and  added,  "It's  not  half  so 


188  1896 

bad  as  it  sounds,"  but  it  was  Mr.  Hooper  who  repeated 
Lewis  Cabot's  remark  that  "when  you  saw  any  one 
blowing  his,  or  her,  nose  from  a  high  moral  sense  of 
duty  you  might  know  it  was  a  Jackson!  " 

You  mustn't  think  I'm  blue  —  its  just  the  tint  of  the 
paper.  At  any  rate  it  brings  you  what  Mrs.  Fields 
would  call  a  blue-gray  kiss.  Mamma's  love  goes  with 

it. 

Your  fond 

ALICIA. 

To  MBS.  E.  P.  SAMPSON. 

MANCHESTER,  July  8th. 
Dearest  Aunt  Florence, 

I  can't  let  today  pass  without  writing  to  tell  you  how 
much  my  thoughts  are  with  you. 

When  the  anniversaries  come  round  they  bring  such 
fresh  memories  with  them  that  the  years  seem  to  fade 
away  as  one  fancies  mere  Time  will  in  the  other  world 
and  leave  only  the  real  things  behind  it  —  the  love  and 
the  admiration  and  the  tenderness  that  give  life  its 
glow  and  its  meaning. 

I  know  how  hard  and  lonely  your  life  is  with  a  hard- 
ness and  loneliness  greater  than  grief  itself,  but  I  know 
that  beyond  the  mists  of  the  present  the  memory  of 
Robert  and  your  little  Sally  must  shine  like  a  bright 
horizon  line  which  no  accident  can  mar  nor  Time  alter. 
"  Safe  in  thy  immortality." 

I  so  often  think  of  dear  Robert  and  his  beautiful 
patience  and  sweetness.  Death  seems  to  me  the  easi- 
est of  all  the  problems  and  the  least  sad. 

Most  affectionately, 
ALICE. 


Aet.  2Y  189 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER,  July  30. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Here  is  Hamlet,  "the  Heavy  Father,"  as  Paulina 
calls  him  since  six  little  sons  of  his  were  born  last 
week.  Fancy  how  cunning!  and  their  mother,  Mr. 
Merwin,  who  owns  her,  writes,  is  busy  carrying  them 
about  from  one  nest  in  the  straw  to  another.  Dickson 
is  to  have  one  and  you  can  imagine  how  jealous  I  am 
at  the  thought  of  anything  so  fat  and  black-satiny  and 
purple-eyed  going  into  any  one's  arms  but  mine.  How- 
ever mamma  seems  to  think  we  have  pets  enough  —  at 
all  events  till  we  get  that  tiger  for  the  spare-room.  I 
wish  you  were  at  home  to  have  one!  I  approve  of  a 
loving  pup  for  you  more  even  than  half  a  dozen  adopted 
children. 

Your  last  letter  from  Cortina  sounded  just  a  little  bit 
dreary,  or  was  that  my  prophetic  soul?  I  am  very  glad 
you  are  away  this  summer  and  not  here  to  distress  your- 
self about  the  bad  times,  which  at  the  moment  are  equal 
to  '93;  only  at  the  moment,  I  trust. 

Mr.  Higginson  came  and  sat  upon  the  mound  last 
night  and  we  thought  him  a  little  cheered.  It  wasn't 
as  it  has  been  with  him  these  last  weeks  —  a  blue- 
ness  that  could  be  felt.  All  the  same  I  think  the  Dol- 
omites a  better  prospect  for  you  than  lists  of  falling 
stocks,  closing  mills  and  money  panics.  The  strong 
feeling  for  silver,  combined  with  a  dislike  for  law  and 
order,  at  the  West  which  the  Democratic  platform  has 
disclosed  has  alarmed  a  great  many,  and  the  West  is 
always  an  unknown  quantity.  Joe  Lee  thinks  their 
party  the  honester  of  the  two,  and  tho'  he  votes  for 


190  1896 

McKinley  his  sympathies  are  with  the  poor  mistaken 
Westerners  who  think  they  are  leading  a  people's  cru- 
sade. I  think  of  writing  "A  Stocking-Foot  Note  to 
History"  on  the  subject  of  the  Populist  Convention, 
which  kicks  off  its  boots  at  all  available  moments. 
Joe  Lee  was  most  interesting  that  same  hot  Sunday 
on  politico-ethics,  but  I  said  to  Bessie  "  Fancy  talking 
on  the  Eternal  Verities  in  such  weather."  "The  very 
time,"  she  answered,  "to  discuss  the  Naked  Truth." 

Weather  reminds  me  that  Tuesday  night  we  sat  out 
in  the  entry  for  an  hour  or  more  and  heard  the  thunder 
crash  about  us  as  I  never  heard  it  before.  Mr.  Higgin- 
son  said  he  mentally  buried  this  entire  household  and 
half  of  bis  own.  It  did  strike  all  about  us —  including 
Mrs.  Dalton's  stable.  I  felt  rather  wilted  yesterday  in 
consequence  but  got  down  on  to  the  mound,  where  Mrs. 
John  Morse  found  us  looking  dissipated  with  our  empty 
glasses  and  sarsaparilla  bottles  about  us.  By  the  way, 
did  I  tell  you  of  the  stuttering  man  who  was  arrested 
in  New  York  and  carried  before  the  Police  Court? 
When  asked  his  name  he  could  only  hiss  out  "S — s — s" 
and  the  Judge  impatiently  turned  to  the  policeman  and 
said,  "What's  he  charged  with?"  "Soda  water,  I 
should  think,"  was  the  reply.  We  laugh  over  him  at 
short  intervals. 

Paulina  has  dined  twice  with  Mrs.  Whitman  in  the  last 
week  —  once  suddenly  at  the  Club  because  Mrs.  Whit- 
man's cook  is,  as  she  said,  "More  static  than  dynamic" 
—  I  tell  Mamma  the  English  of  this  is  that  her  cook  is 
a  slow-poker  and  can't  be  taken  by  surprise.  She  has 
just  given  me  a  dear  little  calf-skin  rug  (a  perfect 
beauty)  and  is  changing  my  sapphire  bracelet  into  a 
ring.  Isn't  she  a  perfect  Fairy-Godmother  ?  The  weeks 


Aet.  27  191 

pass  quickly  but  one's  love  doesn't  pass  away.     "And 
Time,  which  none  can  bind,  tho'  flowing  fast  away  leaves 

love  behind." 

Your 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 
Friday,  August  28. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Paine, 

Paulina  has  so  carefully  skimmed  the  cream  of  our 
news-bowl  once  a  week  for  Ethel  that  I  have  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  send  you  a  small  quantity  of  light-blue 
fluid  afterwards.  Now  that  Ethel  is  gone  to  Naushon, 
however,  I  can  send  you  our  weekly  budget  with  a  light 
heart. 

To  begin  with  our  best  bit  of  news,  Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs. 
Pratt  are  absolutely  on  the  ocean! 

We  wrote  Mrs.  Bell  if  our  heart-strings  were  only 
fastened  to  their  vessel  they  would  make  the  shortest 
passage  on  record. 

Paulina  wrote  how  our  Curtis  doves  had  returned  to 
the  ark,  bearing  their  olive  branches  with  them?  —  and 
Monday  morning  I  drove  over  and  saw  them  and  all 
their  purchases  and  the  house,  which  I  hadn't  seen  for 
years.  In  all  their  sight-seeing  they  couldn't  have  seen 
a  lovelier  place  than  it  looked  that  day.  I  prophesied 
to  Elinor  that  they  would  just  drive  up,  take  a  bird's- 
eye  view  from  the  terrace,  ask  for  a  few  dates,  rush 
thro'  the  state  apartments  and  tip  her  before  leaving, 


192  1896 

under  the  impression  that  she  was  the  housekeeper  in 
charge,  but  I  did  them  wrong,  for  they  are  settling  down 
in  the  family  nest  as  contentedly  as  if  they  had  never 
flown  to  the  Houses  of  Parliament  nor  perched  in 
Givon's  Grove. 

Of  course  I  was  a  good  deal  used  up  by  my  trip,  but 
if  I  hadn't  been  I  should  have  felt  like  the  Lennox 
Stable  boy,  as  if  I  were  "  delirious  or  bleeding  inter- 
nally." I  was  not  too  sick  to  come  down  Tuesday 
evening,  when  we  had  Bella  and  Elinor  over  to  pass  the 
night  and  Joe  Lee  to  supper  with  them  and  Joe  at  his 
liveliest.  He  and  Elinor  got  acting  and  telling  stories 
and  we  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  our  cheeks  and 
we  felt  as  if  we  were  having  mumps  in  our  ribs.  You 
remember  the  Frenchman  who  said  "it  was  easy  enough 
to  be  a  genius  at  twenty-five  —  the  difficulty  was  to  be 
one  at  fifty,"  but  Joe  has  carried  it  into  the  thirties. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 
Thursday,  Sept.  10. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Who  should  appear  here  yesterday  but  Joe  Smith 
(looking  so  brown  and  well)  and  bringing  with  him 
that  dear  little  thing  for  holy  water.  It  will  make  my 
room  really  look  like  St.  Ursula's.  Before  the  resem- 
blance lay  chiefly  in  the  prominence  of  the  bed  and  the 
slippers  and  the  little  dog.  I  was  glad  to  see  a  bit  of 
your  handwriting  too,  for  I  haven't  heard  from  you  for 


Aet.  27  193 

ages  —  to  be  quite  literal,  not  since  the  letter  you  wrote 
from  Adelboden  the  18th  of  August.  Perhaps  you  have 
climbed  up  into  the  region  of  perpetual  snow  and  non- 
existent post  bags?  I  hope  to  hear  today —  Joe  Smith's 
Philadelphia  people  have  scented  his  return  and  sum- 
moned him  to  his  neglected  work,  but  before  leaving 
Dublin  he  started  a  sylvan  theatre  on  their  place  such 
as  he  saw  in  Genoa  somewhere.  Any  one  who  helps  in 
the  making  of  it  is  to  have  a  box,  and  all  Dublin,  he 
says,  is  in  the  trenches,  Mr.  Pumpelly  digging  up  his 
long  beard  at  every  other  shovel-full. 

By  the  way,  I  have  never  been  so  bothered  with  pens 
as  I  have  this  summer!  Drat  them.  I  now  know  the 
meaning  of  a  real  penance  but  I'm  not  going  to  give  in 
to  it  this  morning  but  shall  wend  my  scrawling  way  on 
to  a  half  page.  More  particularly  as  I  have  some  scraps 
I  want  to  send  you  which  will  need  my  two  stamps. 
Do  you  always  feel  as  if  that  were  criminally  extrava- 
gant? I  do.  One  is  my  first  letter  from  Mrs.  Bell 
since  she  reached  this  side,  which  perhaps  you  will  send 
me  back  when  you  write  next?  and  the  other  you  can 
tear  up.  It  is  a  poem  Joe  Lee  wrote  the  other  day  as  a 
Campaign  document  and  brought  us  up.  You  know  he 
is  what  Paulina  calls  * '  the  last  beaux  of  summer  "  and 
we  have  seen  a  lot  of  him,  or  did  while  he  was  here. 
He  has  now  taken  himself  off  to  a  Trade  School  discus- 
sion of  some  sort  at  Saratoga  and  comes  back  no  more. 
He  is  going  to  write  another  poem  with  the  refrain  of 
"Let's  call  the  Baby  Twins  mother,"  on  the  dollar  of 
fifty-three  cents,  —  which  is  distinctly  taking,  I  think. 

Our  mother  is  at  Oak-Hill  with  Helen  and  very 
queer  and  unhomelike  it  seems  without  her.  Like  the 


194:  1896 

whistling  oyster,  we  try  to  keep  our  spirits  up.  Tonight 
Mr.  Hooper  and  Ellen  came  to  supper  and  last  night  we 
had  the  three  Curtises  and  Mrs.  Whitman  at  five  and  all 
sat  round  a  great  fire  and  drank  tea  and  played  it  was 
Boston.  I  wish  you  could  have  been  here  too,  dear 
thing,  but  we  keep  your  place  waiting  for  you. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 

Tuesday,  Sept.  15. 
Dear  Ethel, 

Paulina  wants  me  to  tell  you  that  we  count  on  your 
coming  to  us  Monday  morning  and  passing  two  nights 

—  so  don't  you  fail.     She,  poor  dear,  is  in  bed  with  her 
arm  in  a  sling,  while  Uncle  Melly,  swathed  in  disinfec- 
tants (what  I  call  the  odour  of  medical  sanctity)  has 
limped  out  on  to  my  little  piazza  while  his  room  is  being 
done.     They  are  no  more  than  bruised  after  the  most 
marvellous  and  merciful  escape  from  a  fearful  accident, 

—  the  worst  the  Higginson's  coachman  said  he  had  ever 
seen,  and  he  has  spent  his  life  in  carriage  accidents. 
Uncle  Melly  was  driving  Paulina  over  to  the  Curtis's 
Saturday  noon  with  his  new  span,  and  they  had  just  got 
as  far  as  where  the  Winthrop  Avenue  joins  ours  when 
one  of  the  horses  started  a  little — broke  the  pole-straps 

—  and  then  the  horses  started  on  the  dead  race  down 
Jersey  Lane.    You  know  the  ups  and  downs  and  curves 
of  it!     When  they  came  up  on  to  the  main  road  Uncle 
Melly  tried  to  head  the  horses  for  Joe  Clark's  stone  wall 
and  was  dragged  out  completely  over  the  dasher  and  on 
to  the  pole,  where  he  lay  amidst  a  whirl  of  hoofs  till  be- 


Aet.  27  195 

yond  the  flag-staff,  where  the  horses  swerved  and  fell. 
Paulina  said  she  never  expected  to  see  him  alive  again. 
When  the  carriage  stopped  she  jumped  out,  landing  on 
her  arm,  and  ran  to  him  —  to  find  him  coming  to  her. 
He  had  screwed  himself  down  sideways  and  come  out 
behind  the  carriage.  He  said  when  he  realized  that  he 
was  not  going  to  be  killed,  but  was  going  to  leave  Paul- 
ina alone  behind  the  still-racing  horses,  no  words  could 
describe  his  state  of  mind.  The  spectators,  most  of 
them,  dared  not  look  to  see  what  had  happened.  Was 
it  not  the  most  miraculous  thing  you  ever  heard  of? 
We  dare  not  think  what  it  might  have  been. 

Most  affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD  —  MANCHESTER, 

Oct.  20th,  21st,  and  22nd. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

What  will  you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  go- 
ing to  buy  this  place  and  become  an  Irish  landlord?  — 
that  is,  if  Bryan  is  not  elected  and  the  title  is  clear  and 
a  few  other  little  final  "ifs."  Then  mamma  will  pay 
her  rent  to  me  and  I  shall  feel  very  important  and  be 
very  poor,  —  and  tho'  you  are  a  householder  I  want  you 
to  congratulate  me.  My  yearly  pin-money  will  proba- 
bly dwindle  from  five  hundred  to  two,  but  I  never 
needed  many  clothes  and  I  mean  to  keep  well  so  as  to 
save  doctor's  bills. 

With  debts  galore, 

But  fun  much  more, 

Oh,  that's  the  man  from  Galway. 


196  1896 

I'm  going  to  call  it  "  Castle  Rackrent,"  and  when  you 
drive  by  next  summer  and  see  the  paint  peeling  off  and 
the  broken  windows  stuffed  with  petticoats  you  will 
understand  how  appropriate  it  is.  Mrs.  Whitman  says 
she  is  going  to  re-cover  the  parlor-sofa  and  Bella  engages 
to  have  our  paper  marked  and  Elinor  wants  to  plant  us 
a  tiny  garden.  As  for  Mr.  Dalton,  he  has  been  kindness 
itself — taking  ever  so  much  trouble  to  give  us  sound 
advice,  and  Mr.  Higginson  —  but  it  is  needless  to  en- 
large on  the  dearness  of  the  Higginsons  at  this  late 
date.  You  see  we  are  prematurely  puffed  up  by  the 
pride  of  possession.  Not  "three  acres  and  a  cow  "is 
our  motto,  but  "five  acres  and  a  cat."  Five  acres,  did 
I  say?  Nay,  five  and  three  quarters  acres  and  19  Rods!! 
(Don't  you  think  they  might  have  thrown  in  a  Perch 
or  two  for  the  birds?) 

Seriously,  it  is  a  foolish  business  getting  one's  roots 
down  so  deep  into  another  person's  flower-pot,  and  we 
had  grown  so  fond  of  the  little  house  these  seven  years 
and  my  heart-strings  have  grown  so  round  every  tree 
on  the  place  that  it  would  have  been  a  real  wrench  to 
leave  it  —  if  Mr.  Higginson  had  sold  it  to  some  stranger, 
as  he  might  well  have  been  forced  to  do  in  these  hard 
times.  But  things  will  be  better  after  "  the  Fourth." 

Mrs.  Whitman  quoted  that  remark  of  Howells',  that 
' '  our  weakness  as  a  people  was  sunk  in  our  greatness 
as  a  nation,"  and  I  don't  believe  that  when  it  comes  to 
the  point  even  the  poor  Western  farmers  will  vote  for 
what  even  an  old  silver  man  like  my  Uncle  says  is  vir- 
tual repudiation  —  and  against  law  and  order. 

You  speak  of  our  American  sunshine!  We  had  thir- 
teen (!)  hours  of  it  in  twenty  days,  and  since  the  15th  of 
May  we  have  had  only  two  pleasant  Sundays. 


Aet.  27  197 

The  weather  is  like  the  Ex-Empress  Frederic,  of  whom 
Mr.  Dan  Curtis  said,  "She  used  to  reign,  now  she  pours,'* 

—  when  she  invited  herself  to  tea  at  his  palazzo. 

Do  you  see  how  good  I  was  to  write  this  letter  in 
three  relays  of  a  day  each  ?  But  I'm  still  in  my  bed, 
with  callers  at  ten  minutes  a  call,  and  the  doctor  says 
it's  only  by  being  very  good  that  I  shall  be  able  to  move 
tomorrow.  But  I  am  better  and  shall  move  with  joy. 

—  An  Irish  landlord  wouldn't  be  one  if  he  wasn't  an 
absentee,  and  I  am  eager  to  get  into  the  old  nest.     The 
next  letter  will  be  from  there.     But  Boston  won't  seem 
quite  like  Boston  without  you  and  our  Thursdays. 

Always  lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

HOME  —  October  28th,  '96. 

There,  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter,  if  you  were  only  sitting 
there  in  your  own  corner  by  the  fire  (you  can  just  see 
the  top  of  your  chair  above  the  bed)  with  Sans-Gene 
climbing  up  your  veil,  what  a  nice  talk  we  could  have. 

The  old  room  looks  just  the  same  except  that  we  have 
a  neat  green  carpet  under  the  rug,  and  the  hideous  old 
coal-box  has  been  moved  away  to  make  room  for  a  brass 
hod  to  match  your  tongs.  Oh,  yes,  and  the  little  silver 
holy  water  thing  hangs  on  the  wall  near  Mr.  Brooks's 
picture.  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  this  room  were  the 
only  oasis  of  permanence  in  a  desert  of  hurry  and 
change.  The  same  quiet  routine  goes  on  here  —  the 
same  faces  —  the  same  hearts,  which  still  keep  a  little 
corner  for  a  certain  too  sympathetic  confidante  of  other 
people's  woes  and  worries. 


198  1896 

Mamma  is  reading  Mrs.  Bishop's  life  of  Mrs.  Augus- 
tus Craven  aloud  to  me,  and  I  long  to  mark  little  pass- 
ages in  the  journal  and  letters  for  you.  Have  you  read 
it?  Mrs.  Bishop  is  a  confused  old  lady,  but  Pauline 
de  la  Ferronnaye  is  always  interesting.  She  is  so  full 
of  human  failures  and  struggles  and  discouragements 
in  the  midst  of  her  certain  faith.  I  suppose  you  are 
mistaken  enough  to  want  a  bulletin  of  my  health?  For 
the  first  three  days  after  the  move  I  was  seriously  ill, 
but  yesterday  I  began  to  mend  and  Dr.  Mason  says  a 
long  rest  will  set  me  to  rights.  He  thinks  I  had  a  very 
good  summer  on  the  whole  —  which  is  perfectly  true. 
This  morning  I  am  going  to  have  a  little  call  from  Mrs. 
Coolidge. 

The  Bells  and  Pratts,  after  many  changes  of  plan,  have 
taken  a  house  in  Milton  not  far  from  Mrs.  Fiske  and 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  railway  station.  We  wrote 
that  we  were  quite  "  Penseroso  "  at  the  thought  of  our 
"Paradise  Lost,"  etc.,  in  the  Miltonic  vein  —  but  she 
(Mrs.  Bell,  I  mean)  sends  word  that  an  hour  will  bring 
her  to  our  door  and  she  means  to  lunch  here  constantly. 
I  am  getting  up  my  strength  for  a  long  hug. 

The  Czar's  entrance  into  Paris  will  be  nothing  to  hers 
into  Boston  if  only  her  admirers  took  to  the  sidewalks, 
and  we'll  hang  the  Mt.  Vernon  St.  elms  with  little  pink 
paper  roses  on  wires  such  as  my  enthusiastic  old  French 
teacher,  Mme.  Couder,  sent  me  the  other  day. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  28  199 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  Nov.  12th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Since  I  wrote  the  political  battle  has  been  fought  and 
won,  hasn't  it?  and  I  hope  all  these  panics  in  the  money 
market  are  over  now  along  with  the  uncertainty  as  to 
whether  wampum  might  not  be  legal  tender  the  next 
day. 

Every  one  (except  myself)  had  begun  to  feel  a  little 
shaky,  for,  after  all,  the  chief  plank  in  Bryan's  platform, 
"If  wishes  were  horses  then  beggars  might  ride,"  ap. 
pealed  to  a  large  number. 

Eighteen  nice  people  have  called  on  me  these  last  four 
days,  of  whom  I  have  seen  a  selected  few,  and  among 
them  that  dear  Mrs.  Lodge.  I  haven't  seen  Mrs.  Bell 
yet!  Nobody  has  —  and  as  far  as  Boston  is  concerned 
she  might  just  as  well  be  in  Amboise.  It  makes  one 
think  of  her  father's  old  remark,  "and  gentlemen,  where 
was  the  plaintiff?  He  was  in  that  bourne  from  which 
no  traveller  returns  —  West  Roxbury." 

However,  I  have  a  note  from  her  this  morning  describ- 
ing the  horrors  of  a  country  life  and  telling  how  the  rain 
kept  her  from  me  yesterday  —  and  so  I  shall  expect  her 
here  today.  In  their  Milton  house  there  is  a  secret 
door  into  the  library,  reached  by  pushing  back  a  bit  of 
the  book-case,  but  Mrs.  Bell  says  she  can't  come  in  that 
way  —  she  should  feel  as  if  she  were  "coming  thro'  the 
stomach  of  Tennyson."  And  when  they  thought  of  tak- 
ing the  Scudder  house  and  were  told  that  two  electric 
cars  reached  it,  she  cried,  "  Oh,  I  should  feel  as  if  one 
leg  would  get  there  before  the  other,"  so  you  see  we 


200  1896 

can  believe,  without  sight,  that  she  hasn't  changed  her 
spots.  Tell  Elise  that  last  winter  we  gave  Dr.  Bigelow 
a  fine  little  male  kitten  and  have  just  received  a  note 
with  "The  Chat  of  Purrsia's  compliments,  and  he  has 
the  honor  to  inform  us  that  he  has  just  become  the 
mother  of  five  little  chats,  all  of  whom  are  doing  well." 
We  sent  them  the  congratulations  of  their  uncle,  Ma- 
dame Sans-Gene!! 

Mrs.  Whitman  is  more  dear  and  devoted  than  ever, 
and  is  taking  courage.  Beginnings  are  so  hard  —  and 
the  fresh  winter  upset  even  her  serenity. 

Tuesday  I  am  twenty-eight  and  feel  a  little  "everlast- 
ing hill-ish  "  but  it  is  comforting  to  think  that  one  car- 
ries the  old  friendships  into  the  New  Years. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Friday,  Nov.  27. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Your  last  Paris  letter  has  just  come  and  been  warmly 
welcomed  and  also  the  little  photograph.  Did  you  get 
a  foreign  one  I  sent  you  yesterday?  Paulina  took  them 
one  sunny  morning  before  we  left  Manchester,  and  I 
hope  the  absurd  little  things  will  look  pleasant  to  your 
eyes  in  a  strange  land. 

Yes,  I  really  am  better — have  got  triumphantly  thro' 
with  my  dentistry — have  sat  up  dressed  one  morning 
and  hope  to  get  down  to  tea  tomorrow.  "Quong 
pongs?"  as  Mme.  Sans-Gene  would  say  in  her  purest 
Anglo-Saxon  French.  And  now  I  must  tell  you  what 
a  pleasant  Thanksgiving  Day  we  had  —  beginning  with 


Aet.  28  201 

a  peaceful  morning  when  Paulina  went  off  to  church 
and  Mamma  read  one  of  Mr.  Brooks's  Thanksgiving 
sermons  aloud  to  me  and  then  Elinor  and  Bella  Curtis 
dropped  in  and  Mrs.  Dalton  —  and  after  that  Dickson 
appeared  with  his  three  really  dear  little  boys  to  eat 
their  turkey  and  ice-cream  with  their  "  Gammardge," 
who  wore  a  paper  cap  for  the  rest  of  the  day  and  really 
enjoyed  their  good  time  almost  as  much  as  they  did. 
Even  I,  lying  upstairs  with  my  cat  and  dog,  felt  as  if 
we  had  got  something  young  back  in  the  house  and  a 
bit  of  the  old  Thanksgiving  days  as  I  heard  the  shrieks 
and  little  feet  and  an  old  jig  Mamma  always  plays  for 
"Going  to  Jerusalem"  on  such  occasions.  Here's  a 
picture  of  my  little  god-son  at  two  and  a  half,  just  to 
show  you  how  big  he  must  be  now  at  nearly  three. 
Burn  it,  for  it  doesn't  do  him  justice.  And  after  the 
house  was  quiet  again,  and  the  children  gone,  Mrs. 
Whitman  came  in,  hatless  and  very  merry,  and  laden 
with  uncut  jewels. 

.  For  my  grandmother  Weston  left  us  each  a  hundred 
dollars  to  buy  some  little  memorial  of  her,  and  Paulina 
is  going  to  have  a  pendant  designed  by  Mrs.  Whitman. 

You  know  how  she  throws  all  her  heart  and  spirit 
into  such  things  —  into  anything  that  concerns  her 
friends.  Why,  the  other  day  Paulina  casually  asked 
what  color  she  had  better  have  with  a  black  velvet  din- 
ner dress  she  talked  of  having  made,  and  the  next  day 
two  samples  of  rose  pink  satin  came  up  from  Hovey's 
with  a  written  message  from  Mrs.  Whitman. 

I  have  lots  to  tell  you,  but  neither  space  nor  time  to 
tell  it,  so  will  end  with 

(Continued  in  our  next). 


202  1896 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  December  3rd. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men  —  and  after 
all  my  boastings  I  didn't  get  down  last  Saturday.  I 
dressed  to  sit  upstairs  as  a  kind  of  trial  trip,  but  lost  my 
breath  for  such  a  long  time,  and  had  such  a  bad  turn 
afterwards,  and  altogether  made  such  a  mess  of  it  that 
I  had  to  begin  over  again.  But  I  am  better  and  hope 
to  accomplish  it  before  very  long. 

Yesterday  who  should  turn  up  but  Mrs.  Bell  —  dearer 
than  ever  —  and  just  from  Mrs.  Whitman's  studio.  She 
hadn't  been  to  town  for  a  fortnight  as  Mr.  Pratt  has  been 
having  a  tooth-achey  throat  (or  rather  a  throat  ache 
brought  on  by  a  tooth)  and  Mrs.  Pratt  has  stayed  at 
home  to  keep  his  spirits  up  and  Mrs.  Bell  to  hold  her 
hand.  However,  she  made  us  a  long  call  and  stayed  to 
lunch,  keeping  our  two  men  and  Charley  Walcott  in 
gales  of  laughter.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  her 

description  of  the  dressing  at  the wedding  —  where 

old  Mrs. wore  a  white  straw  bonnet  trimmed,  Mrs. 

Bell  thought,  with  a  little  damp  seaweed  —  or  her  de- 
light at  the  vulgar  noise  and  bustle  of  a  railway  station 
when  you  were  in  time.  But  you  know  how  she  lights 
up  every  tiniest  subject  she  touches  with  the  fire  of  her 
genius.  She  says  she  and  Mrs.  Pratt  don't  read  the 
Bible  now,  but  the  almanac,  and  pray  for  the  longer 
days.  She  isn't  afraid  of  being  insulted  when  out  in  the 
dark  —  that  would  make  her  feel  quite  young —  but  only 
of  breaking  her  old  bones.  Later  Mrs.  Whitman  came 
in,  and  the  day  before  Mr.  Hooper,  and  Sunday  Joe 
Smith  —  come  up  to  breathe  after  his  work  in  Philadel- 


Aet.  28  203 

phia.  Mrs.  Coolidge  tells  me  my  St.  Ursula  is  a  dear, 
but  I  am  not  to  have  her  till  Christmas.  Within  a  day 
or  two  now  I  am  to  sign  my  deeds?  and  how  do  you 
think  I  figure  in  them?  —  as  "Alice  Weston  Smith, 
single  woman."  ''The  aforesaid  single  woman,"  Paul- 
ina calls  me,  which,  as  Mrs.  Whitman  remarked,  is  the 
antipodes  of  "  Milly  Christine."  But  possibly  you  don't 
feel  as  well  acquainted  as  the  rest  of  Boston  with  that 
two-headed  nightingale. 

Who  do  you  think  has  taken  a  fat  mortgage  for  me 
but  Mr.  William  Dexter?  so  you  see  I  feel  backed  up 
by  Prudence  itself. 

Your  loving  old  single  woman, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  Dec.  10th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

We  are  all  rejoicing  in  this  sunny  morning  for  Mrs. 
Whitman's  fair.  Mamma  has  been  knitting  a  blanket 
and  Paulina  making  worsted  balls  in  such  haste  that  if 
Hood  had  still  been  alive  he  would  have  written  a  com- 
panion piece  to  his  "Tale  of  the  Shirt."  Susan  Cool- 
idge—  that  delightful  "cross  between  a  butterfly  and 
an  elephant "  —  is  at  Mrs.  Whitman's,  where  Paulina 
dined  last  night,  and  she  always  cheers  Mrs.  Whitman, 
who  has  needed  cheering  this  week.  We  sometimes 
forget  that,  I  think,  and  throw  too  many  new  cares 
upon  her.  I  always  think  of  her  when  I  read  that  bit 
out  of  Matthew  Arnold's  tribute  to  his  splendid  father: 

If,  in  the  paths  of  the  world, 
Stones  might  have  wounded  thy  feet, 


204:  1896 

Toil  or  dejection  have  tried 
Thy  spirit,  of  that  we  saw 
Nothing !    To  us  thou  wert  still 
Cheerful  and  helpful  and  firm. 

But  there!  if  two  such  old  lovers  of  Mrs.  Whitman 
once  begin  on  that  subject  we  shall  never  end.  Monday 
the  family  drank  my  health  as  a  landed  proprietor  and 
at  tea-time  yesterday  that  dear  Mr.  Higginson  came  and 
made  us  a  long  call  and  the  old  landlord  and  the  new 
exchanged  a  kiss  over  their  completed  bargain.  I  wrote 
Mrs.  Higginson  —  who  has  been  shut  off  from  us  all 
with  her  eczema  this  last  month  —  that  the  place  which 
gave  us  two  such  friends  couldn't  fail  to  bring  a  bless- 
ing with  it.  Do  you  think  it  can?  Then  please  drink 
—  metaphorically —  good  luck  to  "  Castle  Rackrent." 

I  am  sending  you  a  little  book  of  extracts  from 
Maurice  which  I  hope  will  reach  you  sometime  near 
Christmas.  I  read  them  in  a  copy  Ethel  gave  Paulina 
and  enjoyed  them  so  much  that  I  thought  you  might 
too.  I've  marked  passages  here  and  there  that  I  marked 
for  myself  —  thinking  that  the  nearest  approach  to  read- 
ing you  things  I  liked,  as  I  used  to  do. 

You  know,  without  my  telling  you,  how  much  you 
will  be  in  our  home  hearts  at  Christmas  time.  Wher- 
ever you  go  one  of  my  stoutest  heart-strings  is  tied 
tight  round  you,  so  don't  jump  about  too  vigorously, 
will  you?  and  always  remember  your  friends  at  "48  " 

and  particularly 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE. 


Aet.  28  205 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Sunday  Morning. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

I  hope  you  got  home  safely  Friday  without  being 
tired  or  chilled  by  the  bleak  darkness  of  that  late  after- 
noon? 

It  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  you  looking  so  white 
and  to  hear  how  poorly  you  were,  both  in  health  and 
spirits.  But  when  your  nerves  have  recovered  from 
the  long  wear  and  tear  of  last  summer  the  glow  will 
come  back  into  everything,  and  in  the  meanwhile  you 
mustn't  let  yourself  lose  heart,  will  you? 

There  are  days  when  we  all  must  learn  the  meaning 
of  that  beautiful  expression  of  St.  Paul's,  "  the  patience 
of  hope,"  that  we  may  taste  more  fully  of  its  joy  —  and 
however  dark  things  look  you  have  the  bright  stars  in 
your  sky. 

I  wish  I  could  get  to  see  you  and  your  mother  some- 
times, but  my  thoughts  are  not  bedridden  and  often 
come  running  up  your  long  steps. 

Thursday  will  be  a  very  sacred  day  for  you  all,  I 
know,  and  bright  with  memories. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 

I  have  copied  you  a  little  poem  of  Christina  Kossetti's 
that  I  am  very  fond  of: 

When  I  am  sick  and  tired  it  is  God's  will ; 
Also  alone  God's  will  is  sure  and  best ; 
So  in  my  weariness  I  find  my  rest, 
And  so  in  poverty  I  take  my  fill ; 
Therefore  I  see  my  good  in  midst  of  ill ; 


206  1896 

Therefore  in  loneliness  I  build  my  nest ; 
And  through  hot  noon  pant  toward  the  shady  nest, 
And  hope  in  sickening  disappointment  still. 
So,  when  the  times  of  restitution  come, 
The  sweet  times  of  refreshing  come  at  last, 
My  God  shall  fill  my  longings  to  the  brim  ; 
Therefore  I  wait  and  look  and  long  for  Him ; 
Not  wearied,  though  the  work  is  wearisome, 
Nor  fainting,  though  the  time  be  almost  past. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

Friday,  Dec.  18th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

It  was  nice  to  get  your  more  cheery  letter  from  Men- 
tone  and  to  think  of  you  drinking  in  all  that  beauty  — 
but  I  am  just  narrow-minded  enough  to  be  unwilling  to 
change  our  first  real  snowfall  with  the  bright  blue  sky 
about  it  (or  the  familiar  roofs)  even  for  heliotropes  and 
palms  in  a  strange  land. 


Our  dear  little  dressmaking  widow,  Mrs.  Coyle,  had 
the  girl  baby  she  had  longed  for  on  Friday,  but  only 
kept  her  four  days.  It  seems  like  losing  her  last  earthly 
hope  and  comfort.  "Blessed  are  they  that  mourn." 
The  riddle  of  this  world  is  so  deep  and  mysterious  that 
it  must  have  a  great  and  beautiful  answer.  There  is  a 
new  volume  of  Mr.  Brooks's  sermons  just  out,  and  I 
wish  I  had  known  in  time,  but  perhaps  some  one  else 
will  send  it  to  you.  Do  let  me  know.  Since  I  wrote  I 
have  been  downstairs  twice  to  dinner  and  tho'  I  didn't 
make  a  brilliant  success  of  it  I  hope  to  before  long. 
And  do  tell  me  just  how  you  are  and  have  been,  and 


Aet.  28  207 

whether  your  headaches  have  been  troublesome  of  late? 
How  I  wish  you  were  safe  at  home  so  that  I  could  put 
my  arms  round  you. 

May  God  bless  this  New  Year  to  you  and  give  you 

peace. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  Dec.  24. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

And  after  all  the  measles  has  broken  out  among 
Dickson's  little  flock,  so  that  we  shall  have  a  dull,  grown- 
up Christmas,  with  no  tree,  no  Santa  Glaus,  * '  no  band 
of  music  —  nossing! "  We  pretended  it  was  a  day  of 
self-sacrifice  for  us  and  now  are  half-ready  to  cry  on 
our  own  account  at  the  thought  of  our  lost  candy-horns 
—  or  rather  our  postponed  ones,  for  the  festivities  are  to 
come  off  as  soon  as  quarantine  is  over.  In  the  mean- 
while the  tree  stands  in  my  room  for  Sans-Gene  to  scale. 
I  haven't  mentioned  her  for  a  long  time,  but  she  is  dearer 
than  ever  and  her  cheeks  are  swollen  to  such  unfemi- 
nine  fatness  that  we  have  decided  she  has  the  "fur 
mumps."  That  reminds  me  that  I  have  just  invented 
a  text  to  put  on  those  all-too-quickly-disappearing  chests 
of  kitchen  tea,  "  Oolong,  oh  Lord,  oolong?  "  Don't  you 
think  it  "  quite  dear  and  blasphemious, "  as  Mrs.  Whit- 
man does?  She,  alack,  has  gone  off  to  Philadelphia  for 
a  week. 

Did  I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Bell  had  been  tied  to  Milton 
with  a  sprained  ankle  —  what  the  rest  of  us,  Mrs.  Whit- 
man says,  would  not  think  of  calling  so  dignified  a  name. 
"It  looked  at  first  like  Turner's  slave-ship,  but  now," 


208  1896 

she  writes,  "  it  is  beginning  to  fade  into  the  light  of  com- 
mon day." 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Sunday  after  Christmas. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

Some  fairy  must  have  told  you  how  fond  I  was  of 
orris  root  and  that  most  of  my  scent-bags  had  begun  to 
lose  their  savour.  I  have  proudly  put  your  beauty  in 
among  my  best  coats,  where  it  will  remind  me  of  you 
for  a  long  time  to  come.  After  that  it  sounds  as  if  I 
were  going  to  forget  you,  which  wasn't  what  I  meant. 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  my  room  Christmas,  but 
now  some  of  the  flowers  are  faded  and  the  china  and 
plants  have  had  to  be  moved  away  on  Sans-Gene's 
account.  We  had  a  dull,  grown-up  Christmas,  for 
measles  is  in  Dickson's  flock,  but  we  tried  to  make  the 
best  of  it  and  pretend  that  Mamma  and  Paulina  felt 
quite  well,  tho'  one  was  housed  with  a  cold  and  the 
other  had  been  in  all  the  week  with  sore  throat.  She 
was  mending,  however,  and  able  to  appreciate  her  pres- 
ents, and  among  them  your  dear  little  pincushion  and 
needle-case,  for  which  she  wants  me  to  thank  you  with 
her  love. 

We  each  had  a  copy  of  the  new  sermons,  which  was 
a  great  delight  to  us  and  seems  to  be  like  a  pale  reflec- 
tion of  the  light  and  glory  of  past  days. 

May  the  New  Year  bring  only  blessings  to  you  and 

yours. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 


Aet.  28  209 

FROM   HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

Turn  a  dead  anguish  into  a  living  passion. 

November  10.     (Her  birthday.) 

But  we  like  sentries  are  compelled  to  stand 
'Neath  starless  skies  and  wait  the  appointed  hour. 

DRYDEN. 

November  10. 

Those  who  are  given  to  good  speech  are  near  neigh- 
bors to  those  who  accomplish  good  deeds.  There  is  a 
saving  word,  as  there  is  a  saving  work. 

Clement  of  Alexandria:  "It  is  an  enterprise  of 
noble  daring  to  take  our  way  to  God." 

Our  Lord,  in  making  your  career  a  career  of  suffer- 
ing, has  called  you  even  by  this  very  means  to  unite 
yourself  closely  to  Him.  You  must  oblige  yourself  to 
believe  this,  for  the  more  your  heart  is  able  to  enter 
into  this  secret  the  more  you  will  feel  your  sorrows 
changed  into  ineffable  consolations.  .  .  .  And  you, 
my  child,  forgotten  and  always  suffering,  are  evidently 
called  by  God,  and  that  in  an  especial  manner,  to  be 
a  disciple  of  the  Divine  Cross.  Your  happiness  will 
never  be  found  in  freedom  from  pain;  but  only  in  holy 
and  entire  resignation,  and  in  the  closest  union  with 
Him  who  has  suffered  for  your  sake.  —  BESSON. 


210  1897 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER.  January  1st. 

Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Don't  think  by  this  that  we  have  run  down  to  pass 
the  holidays  on  our  family  estates  but  I  wanted  to 
thank  you  for  that  dearest  volume  of  Christina  Rossetti 
on  my  new  landlordly  paper.  You  knew  how  much 
I  wanted  her  —  and  when  your  letter  came  I  guessed 
what  the  book  would  be  but  not  how  sweetly  it  would 
be  bound  in  green  and  gold,  with  my  initials  on  it  and 
the  date  —  (it  only  remains  now  for  you  to  write  your 
name  in  it)  and  that  there  would  be  a  whole  series  in  it 
which  I  had  never  read  as  well  as  all  my  old  favorites. 
I  am  as  pleased  as  possible  about  it  and  only  wish  I 
could  thank  you  for  it  in  person.  And  so  that  good 
day  may  be  put  off  till  August?  but  not  a  single  second 
longer,  remember.  "Hope  deferred  maketh  the  heart 
sick  "  —  and  you'll  have  to  reconcile  me  to  your  new 
plan  by  promising  to  come  to  Castle  Rackrent  for  at 
least  a  week  as  soon  as  you  land,  will  you?  Oh!  I  do 
know  how  sad  the  home-coming  will  be,  but  then  it  will 
be  home,  after  all,  with  its  duties  and  friends  and  ten- 
der associations  and  all  that  makes  life  what  it  is. 

If  you  haven't  got  the  last  volume  of  Mr.  Brooks's 
sermons  ("New  Starts  in  Life")  I  have  an  extra  copy 
waiting  to  send  you. 

And  now  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  what  I  for- 
got to  tell  you  in  my  last  letter  —  that  I  had  got  down- 
stairs two  or  three  times  quite  successfully  and  on  Tues- 
day I  dressed  in  my  best  and  absolutely  descended  to  a 
small  half -dinner  party  of  Ellen  and  Bella,  Joe  Smith 


Aet.  28  211 

and  Charley  Putnam,  who  all  dined  here  before  going 
to  a  charade  party  at  the  Curtis's,  and  tho'  the  next 
day  ended  in  a  very  bad  turn  I  bore  it  so  triumphantly 
at  the  time  that  I  feel  much  encouraged.  Mamma  is 
just  getting  over  a  bronchitical  cold  and  Paulina  spent 
the  week  before  housed  with  tonsilitis,  so  you  see  we  are 
in  the  winter  fashion.  Mamma  wants  me  to  give  you 
her  love  and  thank  you  for  the  pretty  Christmas  card. 
Later  I  must  tell  you  a  little  about  my  presents  but  I 
never  get  started  talking  to  you  but  time  and  paper 
come  to  an  end. 

Mrs.  Bell  was  here  yesterday  and  Mrs.  Whitman  the 
evening  before,  so  you  see  my  days  are  set  in  jewels. 
I  love  you  as  dearly  in  '97  as  I  did  in  '96,  and  am  always 

Your  devoted 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

January  15th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Your  letter  has  just  come  and  I  am  going  to  answer 
it  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  confusion  of  account-books 
and  marketing  lists  —  work  baskets  (not  mine)  and 
bird-cages. 

Mamma  is  just  on  the  way  to  see  the  cook  —  my  dear 
St.  Ursula  is  lying  on  a  chair  asleep  —  her  face  mak- 
ing sunshine  in  the  shady  place.  Sans-Gene  is  rushing 
over  everything  and  Hamlet  is  watching  his  Aunt  Paul- 
ina fill  the  candy-horns  for  our  belated  Christmas  party 
tomorrow,  when  we  not  only  expect  Dickson  and  Anstiss 
and  the  four  children,  but  Helen  and  Jim  and  their  ewe- 
lamb,  if  Jack  can  be  called  so.  Helen  was  here  last 


212  1897 

night  with  the  best  news  of  Mrs.  Storrow,  so  that  we 
are  now  relieved  of  one  anxiety. 

These  coming  weeks  are  very  sad  and  very  happy 
and  sacred.  I  hope  to  go  to  church  a  week  from  Sun- 
day, which  falls  the  day  after  the  23rd.  Yesterday,  a 
year  ago,  Mr.  Brimmer  died,  and  all  these  memories 
make  one  long  to  come,  in  heart  and  mind,  to  that  city 
of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  and  to  the 
spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect  whom  we  have  known 
and  loved  here  on  earth. 

Ever  and  always 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

BOSTON,  January  21. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  head  this  letter  with  a  picture  of  a  "  chatelaine,"  if 
that  means  not  only  one  who  owns  a  house  but  holds 
a  cat.  And  how  are  you?  We  are  raining,  snowing, 
slipping,  slushing,  and  when,  a  day  ago,  the  thermom- 
eter went  down  J^9  degrees  in  86  hours,  Boston  lover  as 
I  am,  I  thought  you  well  out  of  it. 

Since  I  wrote  we  have  seen  Mrs.  Higginson  and  Mrs. 
Whitman  and  Mrs.  Bell,  and  we  have  had  our  child's 
party  and  a  bud-dinner  for  Fanny  Hooper,  which  I  sat 
up  to  for  three  hours,  laughing  and  talking  in  my  best 
clothes,  without  any  bad  results.  Doesn't  that  sound 
quite  gay  and  triumphant?  This  afternoon  Herbert 
Lyman  is  coming  to  sing  and  play  to  me  on  his  guitar, 
and  could  Spain  seem  more  so? 


Aet.  28  213 

Mrs.  Whitman,  talking  of  some  delightful  family 
the  other  day,  said  some  people  thought  them  "strait- 
laced," —  but  I  told  her  that  was  rather  a  comfort 
in  these  days  of  moral  Mother-Hubbards.  This  isn't 
a  letter,  is  it?  —  just  a  hurried  word  and  kiss  before 
you  run  off  to  catch  your  green  car. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  Jan.  28th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Our  hearts  have  been  full  these  last  two  days  with 
Minna  Chapman's  death.  It  seems  all  so  tragic  —  the 
three  little  children  and  the  young  husband  and  this  new 
blow  falling  again  so  soon  on  poor  Mrs.  Brimmer,  and  it 
is  so  hard  to  associate  Death  with  one  so  full  of  life  and 
vigor  and  the  "joie  de  vivre."  As  I  said  to  Mrs.  Bell, 
it  was  like  seeing  night  fall  suddenly  on  all  the  warmth 
and  glow  of  a  full  summer  noon. 

Mrs.  Whitman  went  on  at  once  and  it  is  nice  to  think 
of  Jack  Chapman's  having  such  a  comforter  to  turn  to 
and  such  a  friend.  One  can't  help  trembling  at  the 
thought  of  what  the  first  passion  of  grief  will  be  to  one 
so  passionate. 

From  Saturday  to  Wednesday  I  took  all  to  myself  — 
four  such  peaceful  days  —  what  Mrs.  Whitman  calls 
"a  festival  of  memory." 

She  came  to  me,  and  Gertrude  Brooks  and  Mrs.  Paine, 
and  the  four  years  seemed  to  slip  away  and  leave  us 
all  the  grief  but  without  the  sting,  and  on  Sunday  I 
was  able  to  go  to  early  Communion,  which  was  a  great 
joy  to  me  and  tho'  I  felt  rather  ill  at  the  time  I  was 
none  the  worse  for  it  on  Monday.  Indeed,  I  am  much 


214:  1897 

better  and  intend  to  get  really  strong  so  as  to  give 
you  a  tight  hug  when  you  get  home.  Yesterday  I  got 
downstairs  to  lunch  and  Elinor  and  Mr.  Chaplin  and 
Joe  Smith  came  to  meet  me.  It  was  what  might  truly 
be  called  a  "  succesfou"  in  every  sense  and  I  laughed 
myself  sick  and  was  glad  to  come  back  to  my  bed. 
Today  we  bid  Elinor  goodbye  —  she  is  going  to  Rich- 
mond for  three  weeks  —  and  the  afternoons  will  seem 
blank  enough  with  only  one  Curtis  girl  to  drink  tea 
with  us. 

Of  course  we  have  been  crying  our  eyes  out  over 
"Margaret  Ogilvie,"  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
Paulina  and  I  have  been  most  interested  in  the  ' '  Life 
of  George  Romanes,"  by  his  wife.  Do  read  it  some- 
times —  skipping  the  science,  as  we  did.  He  was  such 
a  dear,  and  having  reluctantly  lost  his  first  faith  and 
accepted  bare  materialism  he  fought  his  way  back  into 
almost  entire  light  before  his  death  —  which  came  all 
too  early. 

Mamma  sends  her  love —  "  a  great  deal "  and  I  am 

Always  yours, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  Feb.  4th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

The  house  is  in  a  state  of  "confusion  worse  con- 
founded," for  this  is  the  day  of  the  "Three  C's"  (or 
the  trebly  cursed).  Not  only  have  superhuman  efforts 
been  made  to  seat  and  feed  a  possible  fifty-three  stout 
females,  but  for  a  day  or  so  I  have  been  stumbling  over 
window-men  and  women  with  pails  of  hot  water  on 


Aet.  28  215 

these  first  two  flights  trying  to  make  a  new  clean  house 
out  of  an  old  and  dirty  one.  I  tell  Mamma  I  shall  re- 
quest a  Chestnut  or  so  (the  most  lynx-eyed)  to  run  up- 
stairs and  see  what  a  pretty  view  we  have  out  of  our 
three-pair  front  hall  bedroom  —  where  the  window  has 
not  been  washed  nor  the  paint  scrubbed  to  receive  them. 
By  four  o'clock  Mamma  will,  I  imagine,  take  to  her  bed 
with  gratitude  and  a  hot-water  bag,  and  a  certificate 
from  Dr.  Jelly  will  prevent  her  ever  having  to  have  it 
again.  Do  they  have  Sewing  Circles  in  Rome,  and  if  so 
do  they  receive  their  dear  guests  in  the  Forum? 

Your  last  letter  sounded  quite  settled  and  cheerful. 
Of  course  I  will  keep  the  sermons  for  you  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  write  your  name  in  them  on  the  21st  so  when 
that  Sunday  comes  round  you  are  to  think  there  is  one 
person  at  least  across  the  ocean  who  is  remembering 
you  on  your  birthday.  By  that  time  you  will  have 
probably  decided  on  your  summer  plans  and  tho'  I  shall 
be  gladder  personally  if  June  is  set  on  for  your  return 
I  am  not  sure  but  August  would  be  the  wiser  —  eco- 
nomically and  otherwise.  I  think  it  might  be  easier 
for  you  to  take  up  your  life  in  the  city  where  duties 
crowd  so  close  on  one  another  tho'  I  know  it  will  be 
bitterly  hard  in  either  place. 

Lie  still,  be  strong  today,  but  Lord,  tomorrow, 

What  of  tomorrow,  Lord  ? 

Shall  there  be  rest  from  toil,  be  truce  from  sorrow, 

Be  living  green  upon  the  sward 

Now  but  a  barren  grave  to  me  ; 

Be  joy  for  sorrow  ? 

Did  I  not  die  for  thee, 

Did  I  not  live  for  thee  ?     Leave  me  tomorrow. 


216  1897 

Mrs.  Whitman  came  home  from  Minna's  funeral  Fri- 
day and  came  in  to  see  me  Saturday  quite  overcome  by 
this  new  blow  not  only  for  Jack  and  the  babies  but  for 
herself.  She  reminds  me  of  that  remark  made  about 
St.  Paul,  "  He  had  a  thousand  friends  and  loved  each  as 
if  he  had  a  thousand  souls  and  died  a  thousand  deaths 
when  he  parted  from  them." 

You  have  probably  heard  that  Mr.  Whitman  was 
poorly?  It  sounded  rather  alarming  at  first,  but  he  is 
able  to  go  off  on  a  fishing  expedition  with  his  brother 
this  week  and  Mrs.  Whitman  is  going  to  New  York  for 
a  few  days'  entire  change  and  rest. 

Love  from  all, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday  and  Friday, 
Feb.  llth  and  12th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Today  Joe  Lee's  engagement  to  Maggie  Cabot  is  abso- 
lutely out — if  it  had  been  anywhere  but  Boston  I  sup- 
pose it  would  have  been  so  ten  years  back.  But  isn't  it 
nice?  She  will  enter  so  warmly  into  every  part  of  his 
life,  and  they  are  both  so  unselfish  that  they  deserve  to 
be  as  happy  as  they  will  be  now,  together.  We  are 
going  to  have  them  to  dine  here  next  week  with  Mrs. 
Whitman  and  hope  to  get  to  know  and  love  her  almost 
as  well  as  we  do  Joe  himself. 

This  is  the  bright  side  of  the  picture  but,  to  quote  the 
great  and  good  Rochester,  "  I've  had  a  blow,  Jane."  The 
Hoopers  have  suddenly  decided  to  sail  on  the  24th  to  be 
gone  eight  months!  Just  think  of  it!  We  are  trying 


Aet.  28  217 

hard  to  be  glad  —  but  see  stars  rather.  Of  course  after 
a  few  days  in  London  and  Paris  they  will  go  straight 
to  Rome,  which  won't  be  large  enough  to  hold  my  inti- 
mate friends  if  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on.  For  they  are 
adding  insult  to  injury  by  taking  Dr.  Bigelow  with  them. 
At  least  he  has  got  as  far,  he  says,  as  the  old  woman 
who  said  she  "was  going  to  New  York  Wednesday, 
D.V.,  and  coming  back  Saturday  anyway!"  He  came 
to  make  me  a  farewell  call  Monday,  and  Tuesday  we 
had  a  good-bye  dinner  of  eight  for  Ellen.  It  was  pleas- 
anter  than  anything  with  a  good-bye  in  it  sounds  as  if 
it  could  be,  and  I  was  allowed  to  sit  through  the  meal 
and  was  then  carried  upstairs  to  my  bed  —  so  you  see 
I  am  better.  All  last  week  I  got  tired-er  and  tired-er 
and  finally  on  Saturday  and  Sunday  I  was  very  ill  but 
I  am  pulling  through  now.  Perhaps  it  would  be  quicker 
if  something  exciting  didn't  happen  every  few  minutes. 
You  can  picture  us  this  summer  in  solitary  grandeur  on 
our  hill —  the  Hoopers  gone  —  you  and  Bella  Curtis  re- 
fusing to  return  and  Joe  Lee  a  married  man. 

Paulina  is  in  a  perfect  whirl  of  gaiety  just  now  —  I 
mean  for  us  —  and  I  wish  you  could  see  her  going  out 
to  dinner  in  her  new  black  velvet  gown  trimmed  with 
rose-colored  satin  and  real  lace,  with  her  new  pendant 
round  her  neck.  My  bosom  swells  with  sisterly  pride. 
It's  a  way  of  being  vain  without  the  sin  —  or  is  it? 
When  one  is  as  close  as  a  Siamese  twin? 

That  dear  Helen  Storrow  now  comes  to  see  me  regu- 
larly on  your  Thursdays  and  has  brought  me  a  tea  cup 
with  little  rosebuds  just  like  the  one  you  gave  me  that 
got  broken  —  in  fact  to  take  its  place.  But  new  things 


218  1897 

don't  ever  really  take  the  place  of  old  ones,  do  they? 
and  if  not  a  china  cup  certainly  not  the  place  of  an  old 

friend. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 


To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

February  18th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

It  seems  as  tho'  we  had  come  to  the  Land  of  Beulah, 
where  "The  Bells  did  so  ring  and  the  Trumpets  con- 
tinually sound  so  melodiously  "  and  where  "  they  would 
cry  again,  '  So  many  went  over  the  water  and  were  let 
in  at  the  Golden  Gates  today.' ' 

Mr.  Curtis's  cold  changed  into  slight  pneumonia  Fri- 
day and  he  died  quietly  that  same  evening  —  less  from 
the  disease  than  from  the  feebleness  left  by  all  these 
years  of  poor  health.  In  a  true  sense  he  died  in  the 
war  —  leaving  ten  of  his  best  years  there  and  all  his 
strength  —  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  absence  of 
two  of  the  girls  one  would  feel  that  it  was  grief  with- 
out its  sting  —  beautiful  and  timely.  But  poor  Bella 
so  far  away,  with  her  aching  head  and  low  spirits  and 
tender  affections  makes  one's  heart  ache.  Elinor  was 
in  Richmond  but  got  home  Sunday  under  Mr.  Higgin- 
son's  care,  who  had  gone  to  meet  her  in  New  York.  I 
have  seen  her  every  day  and  dear  Fanny,  and  yester- 
day Steenie,  who  is  going  to  be  the  great  mainstay  of 
them  all.  Mr.  Curtis's  coffin  was  carried  by  four  of  his 
sons,  all  good,  strong,  loving  boys.  You  know  how 
kind  a  friend  he  has  always  been  to  Paulina  and  me,  so 
that  we  not  only  grieve  for  them  but  with  them.  This 


Aet.  28  219 

is  the  first  break  in  that  great,  happy  family  and  Mrs. 
Curtis  is  alone  after  three-and-thirty  years  of  that  close 
and  tender  companionship,  but  she  has  always  lived  in 
the  great  things  of  life  —  the  eternal  things  —  and  she 
is  rich  in  children  whose  first  and  only  thought  is  how 
to  comfort  her  and  to  live  worthily  of  their  father's 
memory. 

Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  that  gives  me  such  a  pang 
for  you!  When  you  get  this  you  will  be  keeping  your 
holy  days  in  a  foreign  land  among  strangers,  but  one  is 
as  close  there  as  here  to  the  real  home  which  every  year 
grows  more  familiar  to  us  all. 


To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[Mar.  9.] 
Oh,  my  darlings, 

I  must  send  you  a  line  today  though  no  words  are 
necessary  between  us,  I  know.  The  great  sorrow  that 
has  come  to  you  has  fallen  upon  us,  too,  and  a  little 
of  the  deep  joy  that  comes  hand  in  hand  with  sorrow. 

Last  night  I  lay  awake  and  prayed  that  this  cup 
might  pass  from  you  but  this  morning  when  your  mes- 
sage came  to  say  that  she  had  passed  from  life  to  life 
one  felt,  almost  with  a  burst  of  triumph,  what  it  all 
must  mean  to  her  who  has  lived  so  long  by  faith. 

As  one's  love  follows  her  the  great  gates  seem  to  open 
and  those  who  have  gone  before  and  whom  she  loved 
seem  almost  closer  than  those  who  are  still  with  us. 
There  is  one  fold  and  one  Shepherd.  For  you  I  know 
the  vision  must  be  very,  very  bright  in  the  midst  of  the 
darkness  in  which  you  stand  —  looking  up.  We  who 
love  you  and  share  your  grief  can  only  hold  your  hand 


220  1897 

and  wait  to  hear  from  you  the  message  that  God  speaks 
to  those  who  mourn. 

May  He,  who  seeth  the  sighs  of  the  heart  before  they 
are  uttered  and  heareth  them  still  when  they  are 
hushed  into  silence,  comfort  you,  dearest  Ethel  and 
Lily,  and  help  us  all  to  follow  more  and  more  in  her 
footsteps  who  is  now  a  pillar  of  the  great  Church  Invisi- 
ble where  we  all  worship  in  spirit. 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Wednesday,  March  10th. 
Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Dexter, 

If  you  were  only  here  so  that  I  could  put  my  arms 
round  you  and  feel  your  bodily  sympathy  in  this  new 
trouble  that  has  come  to  us.  Mrs.  Paine  died  at  three 
o'clock  yesterday  morning.  You  know  how  dearly  we 
love  her!  and  how  close  the  bond  has  been  between  us 
these  last  four  years  —  for  much  longer  between  her 
and  poor  Paulina  with  all  those  memories  of  long  stays 
at  Waltham  during  Mr.  Brooks's  lifetime.  It  brings 
back  all  the  first  ache  and  desolation  of  those  early  days 
without  him  when  she  used  to  come  and  cling  to  us  — 
heart-broken  herself  but  full  of  courage  and  childlike 
faith.  I  never  saw  any  one  to  whom  the  other  life  was 
so  clear  and  vivid  —  and  her  loving  heart  had  gone  out 
into  it  before  the  spirit  followed  it.  But  it  is  impossible 
to  realize  that  we  shall  never  again  hear  that  quick  step 
on  the  stairs  nor  feel  that  warm  kiss  nor  hear  all  those 
eager,  loving  questions  about  ourselves.  My  room  is 
full  of  associations  of  her  —  the  rug  she  knit  me,  the 
chair  she  used  to  sit  in,  never  leaning  back,  the  last 


Aet.  28  221 

flowers  she  sent  me,  still  fresh  —  and  there  are  no 
human  consolations  —  no  long  illness  or  weariness  or 
hint  of  age  —  and  what  will  that  house  be  without  her? 
—  and  poor  Edith  Storer,  to  whom  her  mother  has  been 
everything?  She  has  been  very  ill  with  the  grippe  for 
the  last  month  and  was  only  pronounced  out  of  danger 
Monday.  It  was  in  nursing  her  that  Mrs.  Paine  caught 
hers,  and  she  had  the  same  high  fever  and  violent  cough. 
It  turned  to  pneumonia  Sunday  and  tho'  they  did  not 
tell  me  I  grew  alarmed  and  distressed  about  her  Mon- 
day evening  —  so  much  so  that  I  lay  awake  all  that 
night  and  when  the  bell  rang  early  the  next  morning  I 
said  to  Paulina,  "  There  it  is."  Ethel's  message  seemed 
to  bring  news  with  which  we  had  been  long  familiar. 
Poor  children!  their  father  was  away  —  had  been  away 
ever  since  their  mother's  illness.  They  telegraphed  him 
Sunday  to  New  Orleans  and  missed  him  —  sent  to  Wash- 
ington Monday  in  vain,  and  finally  reached  him  at  Tus- 
kegee.  He  got  home  this  morning  and  asked  to  see 
Paulina,  who  says  he  looks  fearfully  broken. 

Dr.  Donald  has  been  kindness  itself  and  has  the  right 
to  comfort  which  real  love  for  them  all  and  a  real  shar- 
ing of  their  grief  gives. 

One  can't  feel  that  Mr.  Brooks  can  be  far  from  that 
household  in  its  great  grief.  At  least  one  can  feel  that 
this  world  and  the  other  are  very  close  at  such  times 
and  that,  here  or  there,  there  is  "one  fold  and  one 
Shepherd." 

Mr.  William  Brooks,  who  is  still  ill  abed,  exclaimed 
when  he  heard  it,  "Oh,  how  glad  Phillips  will  be  to 
see  her! " 

Her  children  are  full  of  beautiful  faith  and  courage  — 
the  legacy  that  she  has  left  them.  One  gathers  strength 


222  1897 

thro'  such  a  sorrow  tho'  it  leaves  a  gap  in  our  lives  that 
nothing  can  ever  fill. 

My  thoughts  were  with  you  Sunday. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  S.  HOOPER. 

Thursday,  March  llth. 
My  dear,  dear  Ellen, 

How  I  long  to  have  you  here  to  help  to  comfort 
Tweeby  after  the  heat  and  burden  of  these  sad  days. 
You  know  how  dearly  we  love  Mrs.  Paine  and  how  close 
the  tie  has  been  between  us  these  last  years,  but  for 
Paulina  the  friendship  has  been  of  much  longer  date 
and  the  thought  of  her  is  interwoven  with  all  her  hap- 
piest memories  and  the  time  when  Mr.  Brooks  was  still 
among  us. 

This  has  brought  back  all  the  ache  and  desolation  of 
those  early  days  without  him.  It  seems  impossible  to 
think  that  we  shall  never  again  hear  that  quick  step 
on  the  stairs  nor  feel  those  warm  arms  round  us!  We 
knew  and  loved  her  as  one  can  only  love  those  with 
whom  one  has  gone  down  hand  in  hand  into  the  deep 
waters  of  a  great  affliction  —  and  she  had  such  a  loving 
and  constant  heart!  That  grief  was  as  fresh  to  her,  I 
am  sure,  as  it  was  that  Monday  four  years  ago  when 
she  sent  us  word  that  what  had  been  the  glory  of  our 
lives  was  ended  forever. 

But  she  was  full  of  courage  and  child-like  faith. 

There  was  no  flagging  in  interest,  no  hint  of  age  or 
weariness,  no  ceasing  of  that  eager  work  for  her  Divine 
Master. 

One  can't  help  feeling  a  little  of  the  joy  with  which 


Aet.  28  223 

that  brave  and  loyal  spirit  must  have  sprung  forward 
to  new  tasks  there  where  "His  servants  shall  serve 
Him  and  they  shall  see  His  face  and  His  name  shall  be 
in  their  foreheads." 

She  has  left  her  sons  and  daughters  a  rich  inheritance 
of  faith  and  hope. 

Lily  is  going  to  Edith  today  and  Ethel  is  to  come  to 
me  for  a  little  while. 

Pray  for  those  poor  children  and  for  Mr.  Paine,  who 
came  back  yesterday  to  that  empty  house. 

The  funeral  is  to  be  tomorrow  at  Trinity  Church  — 
which  has  been  a  true  home  to  her  these  twenty  years. 

We  both  embrace  you,  darling. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

Dearest  Elinor, 

I  long  to  kiss  you  again  after  this  long  week  and  to 
thank  you  for  those  dear  little  sunny-faced  daffodils. 
You  know  it  was  only  my  door  and  not  my  heart  that 
had  to  be  shut  against  you  and  Fanny. 

If  only  poor  Paulina  might  have  some  of  the  lying- 
still  time,  but  she  has  to  bear  all  the  burden  and  heat  of 
the  days  and  looks  sadly  worn,  I  think. 

Being  any  little  help  to  the  Paines  is  her  greatest  com- 
fort —  and  from  the  wringing  of  the  heart  that  comes 
from  sympathy  one  wouldn't  spare  her  if  one  could. 

We  all  drink  of  the  same  great  cup. 

My  dearest  love  to  Fanny. 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE. 
Monday. 


224:  1897 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  March  25. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  feel  quite  proud  to  be  able  to  write  you  myself 
today  and  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  dearly  and  am 
really  better.  Last  week  I  felt  so  badly  to  be  cut  off 
from  seeing  the  Paines,  which  is  a  sort  of  duty  as  well  as 
the  greatest  comfort  and  privilege,  —  they  are  so  brave 
and  sweet.  And  I  have  been  so  pleased  that  not  only 
the  girls  have  felt  like  coming  to  me,  but  George  and 
Robert  both,  and  last  night  Mr.  Paine  himself.  He 
talked  so  much  of  Mrs.  Paine  and  Mr.  Brooks  that  the 
happy  past  seemed  more  real  than  the  sad  present  —  but 
it  wrung  my  heart  to  see  and  hear  him !  His  life  is  ended 
—  and  he  was  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  five  and 
thirty  years  ago,  besides  all  that  deeper  love  of  knowl- 
edge and  one-ness  which  we  outsiders  can  only  imagine 
on  our  knees. 

Ah,  well!  to  that  household  grief  has  indeed  come  "as 
angels  came  to  the  tent  of  Abraham.  The  mere  frolic 
of  life  stands  still,  but  the  soul  takes  the  grief  in  as  a 
guest  —  kisses  its  hand,  spreads  its  table  with  the  best 
food,  gives  it  a  seat  by  the  fireside  and  listens  rever- 
ently for  what  it  has  to  say  about  the  God  from  whom 
it  came." 

Mrs.  Whitman  says  life  can  only  be  led  on  the  mili- 
tary basis,  and  we  fill  up  the  ranks  and  march  on. 
How  we  long  for  you  absent  ones  to  be  back  in  the 
home  regiment!  And,  dear,  tho'  you  can't  expect  hap- 
piness I  know  the  call  to  work  and  comfort  others  is 
an  almost  stronger  appeal  to  your  tender  and  unselfish 


Aet.  28  225 

heart.     And  you   are  one  of  those  who   "  have  the 

keys." 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 

I  copied  you  this  little  verse  yesterday.  If  only  our 
lives  could  be  bright  enough  to  give  the  light. 

Lord,  how  can  man  preach  thy  eternal  word? 

He  is  a  brittle,  crazie  glasse  ; 
Yet  in  thy  temple  thou  dost  him  afford 
This  glorious  and  transcendent  place 
To  be  a  window,  through  thy  grace. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Tuesday  before  Easter, 

April  13th,  1897. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

There  seems  a  doom  on  our  Thursdays,  so  I  am  going 
to  begin  my  letter  this  week  in  good  time  and  cheat  the 
Fates.  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  the  dates  on  my  list,  to 
see  how  many  times  I  have  had  to  miss  writing  of  late, 
and  that  after  so  proud  a  beginning  they  go  straggling 
off  after  Feb.  18th  to  March  10th,  March  25th,  and 
April  2nd,  but  I  hope  you  found  all  those  waiting  you 
in  Rome  and  Mamma's  one  in  between? 

Your  letter  from  Palermo  came  yesterday  and  it  is  nice 
to  think  of  your  having  started  homeward  up  the  boot 
of  Italy.  If  only  you  were  a  little  more  like  the  man 
who  "  went  with  one  prance  from  Turkey  to  France." 

However,  next  month  comes  Manchester  and  then, 
Hey,  presto!  —  August  and  you  —  with  plenty  of  sun- 
shine stored  up  for  wintry  days. 


226  1897 

Thursday. 

Yesterday  Mrs.  Bell  spent  an  hour  and  a  half  with  us, 
"making  sunshine  in  the  shady  place,"  and  Monday 
we  had  a  call  from  Mrs.  Whitman,  who  is  getting  back 
her  lost  voice.  I  have  seen  besides  during  the  last  three 
days,  Ethel  Paine,  Elinor  and  Fanny  Curtis,  Gertrude 
Brooks,  and  Mrs.  Templeman  Coolidge,  and  Helen  Stor- 
row  —  so  you  see  I  am  richly  blessed,  as  usual.  Now  I 
am  going  to  take  the  rest  of  the  week  quite  quietly  all 
to  myself.  One  clings  to  these  Lenten  days  and  parts 
from  them  with  regret.  They  are  in  keeping  with  one's 
saddened  outlook  and  yet  full  of  that  "  strange  and  holy 
quietude  "  that  comes  in  the  hush  after  a  sorrow  before 
the  daily  routine  has  to  be  taken  up  again.  If  only 
this  solemn  season  would  leave  our  lives  a  little  fuller 
of  the  knowledge  of  Christ  and  "the  power  of  his 
resurrection." 

With  brightest  Easter  wishes. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 
To  Miss  ELLEN  S.  HOOPER. 

BOSTON,  April  19. 
Dearest  Ellen, 

We  can  think  of  nothing  but  the  happiness  which 
has  come  to  the  dear  Paines  in  the  midst  of  their  grief 
—  a  real  Easter  gleam  of  hope  and  joy.  George  finally 
decided,  on  Friday,  to  go  into  the  ministry,  a  beautiful 
tribute  of  love  to  his  mother,  whose  great  wish  it  was. 
He  had  been  dedicated  to  the  temple,  almost  like  the 
infant  Samuel,  and  Mr.  Brooks  always  spoke  of  having 
him  for  his  assistant  when  he  was  a  little  boy  in  dresses. 
But  of  late  years  they  have  not  spoken  of  it  because 


Aet.  28  227 

they  wanted  it  so  much,  and  didn't  want  to  bring  any 
influence  to  bear.  Though  George's  inclinations  have 
lain  that  way  his  modesty  as  to  his  powers  has  with- 
held him.  You  know  what  a  consecrated  life  his  has 
always  been  and  what  a  pure  and  loving  heart  he  will 
bring  to  this  fuller  service  of  God  and  his  fellow  men. 
We  have  just  had  such  a  beautiful  letter  from  him  this 
morning. 

It  has  always  seemed  so  sad  to  us  that  none  of  Mr. 
Brooks's  young  men  should  carry  his  message  to  others, 
and  now  the  dear  old  Church  has  got  one  who  is  worthy 
to  be  the  first  fruits.  Mrs.  Whitman  said  this  news 
made  one  go  about  one's  work  with  a  lighter  heart,  and 
you  can  imagine  what  it  is  to  his  family,  whose  loves 
in  higher  love  endure. 

Nelly  knocks  and  announces  George  himself. 

Your  very  loving 

ALICE  AND  PAULINA. 

Thank  Fanny  for  her  dear  note. 

Would  you  mind  letting  Mrs.  Dexter  see  this  letter? 

To  Miss  ISABELLA  CURTIS. 

BOSTON,  April  22. 
Dearest  Bol, 

Alice  says  that  the  play  is  now  drawing  to  a  conclu- 
sion, —  all  the  conspirators  are  assembling  in  Florence. 
You  and  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Ellen  will  compare  our  let- 
ters, and  it  will  be  discovered  that  the  same  time-worn 
jest  has  served  for  three,  and  Mme.  de  SeVigne*  will  be 
blasted.  Notwithstanding  this  horrible  disclosure,  it  is 
nice  to  think  of  all  you  dear  people  together,  a  little 
Jewish  colony  in  the  midst  of  Babylon  the  great. 


228  1897 

In  our  window  at  the  moment  is  a  purple  glass  Iris, 
just  come  home  from  Mrs.  Whitman's  shop.  It  went 
up  and  made  a  call  on  your  mother  this  morning,  and 
really  is  a  dear,  almost  too  beautiful  to  send. 

We  love  you  fondly  and  rejoice  to  think  how  few 
more  times  we  shall  have  to  tell  you  so  with  cold  old 

ink. 

YOUR  ALICE  AND  PAULINA. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  April  22. 
Dear  Mrs.  Dexter, 

When  we  heard  of  Mr.  Storrow's  death  almost  our 
first  thought  was  of  you  —  so  far  away,  and  longing, 
as  we  knew  you  would,  to  be  here  to  do  some  little 
thing  to  comfort  Mrs.  Storrow.  But  sympathy  is  so 
much  larger  a  thing  than  we  can  grasp  that  who 
knows  but  your  thoughts  and  prayers  for  her  may  do 
as  much  there  as  all  the  little  acts  of  kindness  that 
your  nearer  presence  might  have  made  possible.  Jim 
is  so  sure  that  it  is  just  the  death  his  father  would 
have  chosen  that  perhaps  it  will  a  little  reconcile  Mrs. 
Storrow  to  what  was  most  painful  in  the  outward  cir- 
cumstances of  her  bereavement.  For  the  rest,  she  is 
not  one  to  sorrow  "  even  as  others  which  have  no 
hope,"  and  Bessie  is  like  a  very  loving  daughter  to  her. 
Mamma  and  Dickson,  who  went  to  the  funeral,  said  it 
was  very  touching  to  see  her  come  out  leaning  on 
Jim's  arm,  and  to  see  him,  reserved  as  he  is,  reach  out 
his  other  hand  and  pat  hers.  I  hope  to  hear  just  how 
she  is,  physically,  from  that  dear,  affectionate  Helen, 
tomorrow. 


Aet.  28  229 

We  had  such  a  beautiful  Easter-day  —  cloudless 
and  still,  with  a  fresh  sparkle  in  the  air  —  just  such 
weather  as  one  would  choose  for  that  "  day  of  days." 
And  my  room  was  full  of  flowers,  which  spoke  their 
own  message  of  hope  and  peace,  and  love  too.  One 
thought  of  that  bit  of  Browning,  "But  who  clothes 
summer?  God,  who  created  all  things,  can  renew." 

Had  you  Easter  lilies  in  Rome?  If  you  could  only 
see  the  one  Ethel  sent  me!  One  great,  tall  stalk  with 
a  burst  of  ten  perfect  blossoms  at  the  top,  like  a  peal  of 
bells.  Mrs.  Whitman  runs  in  frequently,  just  to  wor- 
ship it,  and  "Susan  Coolidge  "  watched  it  coming  to 
me  and  said  she  had  never  seen  such  a  gorgeous  one. 

And  I  must  tell  you  what  a  kind  thing  Dr.  Donald 
did,  amidst  all  his  work  on  Easter.  He  sent  me  three 
red  roses  from  the  Chancel,  with  a  really  beautiful 
note.  I  must  keep  it  to  show  you. 

And  so  you  have  seen  our  dear  Ellen  —  and  will 
shortly  see  her  again  in  Florence?  We  asked  her  to 
show  you  our  last  letter  about  the  great  happiness  that 

has  come  to  the  dear  Paines. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

April  28th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

We  can  talk  of  nothing  —  think  of  nothing  —  day  or 
night,  but  gallant  little  Greece  hurling  herself  vainly 
against  Turkey,  that  great  Power  of  Darkness,  while 
the  Nations  stand  by  guarding  their  money  interests 
and  callously  watching  their  treaties  violated,  and  an 
innocent  people,  whom  they  had  promised  to  protect, 


230  1897 

led  like  lambs  to  the  slaughter  —  I  feel  sometimes  as  if 
my  heart  would  burst.  "All  the  earth  is  full  of  dark- 
ness and  cruel  habitations."  "  And  I  looked  and  there 
was  none  to  help."  But  if  there  is  Divine  Justice  in 
heaven  there  must  come  a  great  day  of  judgment  for 
the  nations,  when  they  will  have  to  tread  the  winepress 
of  the  wrath  of  Almighty  God,  —  and  England,  whom 
we  have  believed  in  and  looked  up  to!  —  who  more  than 
any  other  helped  to  preserve  Turkey  to  be  still  what  she 
has  always  been,  "  an  organized  negation  of  God." 

Have  you  read  William  Watson's  "Year  of  Shame"  ? 
or  that  poem  of  his  beginning,  — 

O  languid  audience,  met  to  see 

The  last  act  of  the  tragedy 

On  that  terrific  stage  afar, 

Where  burning  towns  the  footlights  are ! 

O  listless  Europe,  day  by  day, 

Callously  sitting  out  the  play  ! 

Elinor  was  telling  us  last  night  of  a  little  Armenian 
girl  of  four  years  old  at  the  "Gwynne  House"  who 
throws  her  arm  up  over  her  head  and  shrieks  at  the 
sight  of  any  stranger.  Her  father  explained  in  a  quiet, 
matter-of-fact  voice  that  she  had  been  like  that  ever 
since  the  last  massacre,  when  she  saw  her  mother  and 
brothers  and  sisters  murdered  before  her  eyes  —  and 
only  one  out  of  so  many  thousands  like  her!  but  it 
brings  it  home  to  one's  heart.  And  to  think  of  our 
sitting  in  our  quiet  houses  with  safety  and  purity  and 
justice  all  about  us  —  helpless  to  help.  But  at  least  we 
can  think  of  them  and  feel  with  them,  and  it  is  a  com- 
fort to  think  that  nothing  can  come  to  a  great  section 
of  humanity  without  in  a  real  way  coming  to  us  all. 


Aet.  28  231 

We  are  all  our  brother's  keeper,  and  "the  whole  crea- 
tion groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together." 

"Nevertheless  we,  according  to  the  promise,  look  for 
new  heavens  and  a  new  earth  wherein  dwelleth  right- 
eousness," and  one  cannot  be  a  Christian  and  not  take 
courage.  Faith  and  Hope  go  hand  in  hand. 

I  have  written  you  a  gloomy  letter,  but  out  of  the 
full  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,  and  we  could  have 
spoken  of  nothing  else  had  you  been  here  today. 

Now,  trumpeter,  for  thy  close, 

Vouchsafe  a  higher  strain  than  any  yet ; 

Sing  to  my  soul,  renew  its  languishing  faith  and  hope, 

Rouse  up  my  slow  belief,  give  me  some  vision  of  the  future, 

Give  me  for  once  its  prophecy  and  joy. 

O  glad,  exulting,  culminating  song ! 

A  vigor  more  than  earth's  is  in  thy  notes, 

Marches  of  victory — man  disenthralled,  the  conqueror  at  last! 

Hymns  to  the  Universal  God  from  universal  man  —  all  joy ! 

Women  and  men  in  wisdom,  innocence  and  health  —  all  joy! 

War,  sorrow,  suffering  gone  —  the  rank  earth  purged  —  nothing 

but  joy  left ; 

The  ocean  filled  with  joy  —  the  atmosphere  all  joy! 
Joy  !  joy  !  in  freedom,  worship,  love  !  joy  in  the  ecstasy  of  life  ! 
Enough  to  merely  be  !  enough  to  breathe  ! 
Joy  !  joy  !  all  over  joy ! 

That  is  a  bit  from  Walt  Whitman,  and  isn't  it  fine? 
Like  wine  to  one's  spirit.  Mamma  and  I  have  just  fin- 
ished the  dear  ' '  Gurneys  of  Earlham. "  It  is  like  a  spirit- 
ual oasis  in  the  midst  of  the  deserts  of  literature.  And 
how  ashamed  it  makes  one  of  one's  idle,  cowardly  life! 
But  cowards  have  their  affections,  and  I  am  always 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 


232  1897 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

BOSTON,  Friday,  May  7th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Your  postal  from  Assisi  has  just  come,  and  tho'  you 
mention  the  flowers  there  you  say  nothing  about  the 
"brother  and  sister  birds"  that  must  flock  about  the 
birthplace  of  that  dear  patron  saint  of  pets;  and  to 
think  of  the  Hoopers  being  so  near  and  never  looking 
up  Saint  Francis!  We  have  just  had  a  fat  letter  from 
Ellen  at  Florence,  where  she  is  seeing  Bella,  but  where 
are  you?  We  pictured  a  great  bit  of  old  Boston  in  the 
midst  of  that  romantic  little  town.  This  bit  of  a  letter 
must  stand  for  two  —  for  next  week  this  household  will 
be  "on  the  wing."  And  it  isn't  on  the  wing  like  a 
bird,  but  rather  like  a  flying  machine,  which  takes  a 
long  time  to  get  started  and  stays  in  the  air  but  a  few 
ponderous  seconds  before  falling  heavily  back  on  what 
Mrs.  Leiter  calls  ' '  terra-cotta. "  When  you  hear  next 
I  hope  it  will  be  on  "  Castle-Rackrent "  paper.  Did  we 
tell  you  our  pet  scheme  of  having  Bessie  pass  a  whole 
month  with  us?  to  rest,  and  be  nursed,  and  enliven  us 
all  mentally!  If  we  could  only  have  Mrs.  Bell  close  by  as 
an  inducement!  She  made  us  a  farewell  call  Tuesday 
and  was  more  absolutely  fascinating  than  ever.  I  do 
hope  the  Mattapoisett  summer  will  be  a  success,  —  but 
by  far  the  hardest  pull  for  us  is  leaving  the  dear  Paines 
for  so  long.  We  need  them. 

Yesterday,  as  I  could  not  go  to  church  before  the 
autumn  now,  Dr.  Donald  administered  the  Holy  Com- 
munion to  me  here  at  home.  It  was  all  more  beautiful 
and  solemn  than  I  can  express.  Mamma  and  Paulina 
and  Dickson  were  about  the  bed,  and  dear  little  Ethel, 


Aet.  28  233 

who  is  like  one  of  us.  Both  the  windows  were  wide 
open,  and  Birdie  sang  in  his  cage  above  the  great  rose- 
bush, so  that  it  seemed  as  if  heaven  and  earth  were  full 
of  His  glory.  It  made  me  feel  very  happy  and  peace- 
ful, and  the  dear  room  seems  flooded  with  new  light 
now  that  it  really  has  become  "  the  little  Sanctuary." 

Your  most  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

May  17th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

This  is  the  first  letter  which  I  have  written  with  my 
own  hand  since  our  move,  as  Dr.  Washburn  insisted 
upon  three  days  of  absolute  quiet  to  begin  with. 

Yes,  we  bought  the  little  red  house  just  as  it  stood, 
except  for  the  old  secretary  and  sideboard,  which  Mrs. 
Higginson  had  associations  with,  and  even  those  two 
are  to  board  with  us  for  the  present. 

Our  priceless  Nathalie  —  who  is  a  widow  now  —  and 
William,  the  coachman,  came  down  four  days  in  ad- 
vance of  the  rest  of  the  menagerie,  so  that  when 
Paulina  and  Dickson  and  Sans-Gene  and  I  alighted  it 
looked  quite  settled  and  homelike.  And  they  had 
made  me  a  flower-bed  along  the  piazza,  which  made 
me  feel  quite  the  pride  of  possession. 

I  was  disappointed  that  no  tenants  met  me  at  the 
entrance  of  my  estate,  but  perhaps,  as  they  would 
have  been  Irish  tenants,  and  the  welcome  they  might 
have  prepared  might  have  been  given  from  behind  the 
shelter  of  stonewalls,  it  was  just  as  well.  "Punch" 


234  1897 

says  there  ought  to  be  a  close  season  for  landlords  as 
well  as  other  game. 

The  Higginsons  and  Curtises  move  down  next  Friday 
and  the  Daltons  are  here  already,  but  one  feels  that 
appalling  sense  of  emptiness  that  seems  to  fill  our  little 
world.  Even  Mrs.  Whitman  says  she  never  knew  a 
time  when  it  seemed  so  empty.  That  made  it  doubly 
hard  to  leave  Boston,  where  one  seemed  so  close  to  all 
the  dear  memories  and  sad  associations  which  must 
take  the  place  now  of  all  the  dear  ones  gone  before. 
We  seem  to  have  reached  that  place  in  our  lives  where 
our  great  cry  must  be:  "Abide  with  us,  for  it  is  toward 
evening  and  the  day  is  far  spent." 

My  thoughts  are  so  much  with   you  and   my  dear 

Ellen. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

[May  21.] 
CASTLE  RACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 
Dearest  Elinor, 

This  is  just  to  bring  you  my  love  and  to  tell  you  how 
much  my  heart  is  with  you  all  today. 

I  know  the  coming  back  to  the  dear  old  house  will  be 
like  realizing  your  grief  over  again  in  all  its  freshness 
—  only  with  that  numb  ache  that  never  comes  at  first. 

But  what  makes  it  the  hardest  will  grow  to  be  the 
greatest  comfort  —  all  the  crowding  memories  of  the 
happy  years  making  so  much  of  the  sunshine  of  the 
years  to  come. 

I  looked  behind  to  find  my  past, 
And  lo  !  it  had  gone  before. 


Aet.  28  235 

As  time  goes  on  and  we  must  live  more  and  more 
without  the  bodily  presence  of  those  who  make  the  old 
earth  homelike  to  us,  associations  grow  more  and  more 
sacred  and  it  is  a  continual  joy  to  me  that  I  can  asso- 
ciate your  father  with  this  room  as  well  as  have  so  vivid 
a  picture  of  his  driving  up  with  Jennie  thro'  the  woods. 

Dearest  Elinor,  I  know  how  heavy  your  heart  has 
been  of  late  —  how  the  aching  need  grows  with  the  days 
—  but  after  the  hard  taking  up  of  the  burden  of  daily 
life  again  I  think  there  is  a  new  realization  of  that 
abiding  presence  which  one  so  easily  feels  when  one  has 
just  seen,  as  it  were,  the  heavens  open  to  receive  those 
we  love  out  of  our  sight.  And  you  all  have  the  secret 
of  turning  your  personal  pain  into  a  motive  for  making 
other  people's  lives  brighter,  I  know  —  with  all  the 
added  nearness  of  this  last  year. 

Your  loving  old  friend, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  May  27. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

You  see  the  new  hearth  has  grown  quite  homelike 
and  familiar  —  and  before  long  you  will  be  sitting  beside 
it  and  your  absence  will  seem  like  a  dream.  A  peace- 
ful dream,  I  hope,  from  which  you  will  have  waked 
rested  and  refreshed. 

Bella  is  probably  landing  today  and  Mrs.  Curtis  will 
feel  happier  with  that  last  chick  gathered  under  her 
wing.  Now  that  the  move  here,  which  she  dreaded  so 
much,  is  absolutely  made  —  all  the  crowding  associa- 
tions of  the  happy  years,  that  are  over  for  her,  seem 
chiefly  comforting  —  and  our  dear  Paines  have  gone  to 


236  1897 

Waltham,  where  all  is  so  full  of  their  mother.  But 
thro'  all  their  fiery  trial  one  has  felt  as  if  they  were  like 
the  three  men  cast  into  the  furnace  bound,  and  those 
watching  have  seen  ' '  four  men  loose  walking  in  the 
midst  of  the  fire  and  they  have  no  hurt;  and  the  form 
of  the  fourth  is  like  the  Son  of  God." 

Dear  little  Ethel  is  coming  to  us  next  week  after 
the  Shaw  celebrations,  to  which  Paulina  will  come  in 
with  them.  Mr.  Higginson  speaks  on  him  at  Sanders 
Theatre,  Sunday  afternoon,  which  will  be  a  beautiful 
prelude  to  the  great  day  itself.  I  am  going  to  send  you 
a  "Harper's  Weekly,"  in  case  you  haven't  seen  St. 
Gaudens's  magnificent  relief.  How  can  people  speak  of 
the  loss  such  a  man  as  Shaw  is  to  the  country  when  his 
life  is  cut  short?  What  after-service  could  be  equal  to 
the  image  the  nation  has  of  him  —  and  those  like  him, 
in  her  heart  eternally  young  —  dying  at  the  supreme 
moment?  "He  being  made  perfect,  in  a  short  time 
fulfilled  a  long  time"  —  and  left  a  name  that  must 
sound  like  a  bugle  call  to  generations  yet  unborn.  In 
these  times  of  darkness  and  shame  it  is  a  comfort  to 
dwell  on  our  "  Heroic  Age." 

Your  very  loving 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

Here  are  two  verses  out  of  Christina  Rossetti's  new 
volume  which  I  thought  appropriate  to  Palm  Sunday 
—  and  very  dear  besides: 

My  vineyard  that  is  mine  I  have  to  keep, 
Pruning  for  fruit  the  pleasant  twigs  and  leaves. 
Tend  thou  thy  cornfield  —  one  day  thou  shalt  reap 
In  joy  thy  ripened  sheaves. 


Aet.  28  237 

But  if  my  lot  be  sand  where  nothing  grows  ? 
Nay,  who  hath  said  it  ?     Tune  a  thankful  psalm  ; 
For,  though  the  desert  bloom  not  as  the  rose, 
It  yet  can  rear  thy  palm. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

Tuesday  Morning, 

June  15th. 
Oh,  my  dearest  Linka, 

What  a  day!  We  had  begun  to  think  that  story 
about  the  dove  and  olive  branch  was  all  a  myth,  but 
now  everything  is  forgiven  and  forgotten. 

Paulina  has  just  been  off  getting  blackberry  vines 
and  purple  irises  and  buttercups  for  the  table  and  I 
only  wish  you  were  here  to  stand  with  ' '  Gammardge  " 
and  her  cortege  of  cats  in  the  sun  where  I  could  see  you. 

If  you  were,  Paulina  wouldn't  have  had  to  drive  the 
little  mare  in  solitary  state  over  to  the  Curtis's  yester- 
day —  but  even  I  was  not  more  alarmed  than  if  she  had 
been  riding  on  one  of  those  bits  of  shingle  tied  by  two 
strings  to  holes  in  a  turtle's  back.  We  used  to  find  that 
a  most  thrilling  thing  to  watch  when  we  were  children 
and  lived  by  rivers  where  other  people's  escaped  turtles 
seemed  to  abound. 

And  to  think  of  Lily's  coming  to  Castle  Rackrent  — 
we  are  filled  with  joy  at  the  very  thought.  I  wonder 
when  you  all  come  back  from  Dublin  whether  Robert 
wouldn't  spend  a  night  with  us?  — or  perhaps  sometime 
when  he  has  to  come  down  from  Dublin  on  business? 
Then  we  would  feel  as  if  we  weren't  robbing  you  —  and 
I  know  how  necessary  he  has  become  to  you  all. 


238  1897 

As  for  you,  darling,  I  am  counting  on  three  more  days 
in  the  autumn  to  end  my  summer  with  another  such 
little  bright  spot  as  you  made  for  us  in  the  beginning. 

I  cannot  tell  you  —  I  wouldn't  if  I  could  —  all  your 
brave  and  sweet  example  is  to  us,  but  the  very  thought 
of  you  makes  my  heart  grow  warm.  When  another 
of  the  great  links  that  bound  us  is  gathered  into  God's 
hand  it  draws  us  not  only  so  much  closer  together,  but 
so  much  closer  to  Him.  The  whole  friendship  takes  a 
great  step  on  and  up. 

My  heart  has  ached  for  you  all  so  much  this  summer. 
I  have  known  a  little  what  it  must  have  been.  Do  you 
remember  in  one  of  those  letters  to  Mrs.  Shaw  how 
some  one  speaks  of  the  great  sacrifice  which  is  made  as 
a  whole  at  first,  having  then  to  be  made  day  by  day  in 
detail?  And  every  new  light  seems  to  make  the  grief 
more  vivid. 

But  in  all  our  loneliest  moments  —  in  all  the  chang- 
ing moods  that  sorrow  wears,  "  He  who  seest  the  sighs 
of  the  heart  before  they  are  uttered  and  heareth  them 
still  when  they  are  hushed  into  silence"  is  our  Com- 
forter. And  I  know  you  have  the  secret  of  turning  the 
comfort  you  receive  into  joyful  service  for  others  for 

God's  sake. 

Your  most  loving 

ALICE. 
To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday,  June  24. 
Darling  Mrs.  Dexter, 

To  think  my  letter  should  have  given  you  a  sleepless 
night!  As  if  you  hadn't  enough  gloomy  friends  already! 


Aet.  28  239 

There  are  times  when  "the  heavy  weight  of  all  this 
unintelligible  world  "  lies  heavy  on  my  heart,  but  you 
know  I  ampersonally  quite  happy. 

And  the  friends  here  and  the  friends  there  make  my 
outward  and  inward  life  very  rich  and  full.  To  say 
nothing  of  Mamma  and  Paulina,  who  fold  my  whole 
existence  in  their  love.  I  want  to  say  with  Herbert  — 

Thou  who  hast  given  so  much  to  me, 

Give  one  thing  more,  a  thankful  heart ; 

Not  thankful  when  it  pleaseth  me, 

As  though  Thy  blessings  had  spare  days, 

But  such  a  heart  whose  pulse  may  be  Thy  praise. 

And  now  you  would  like  to  know  what  we  are  doing 
with  ourselves  this  exquisite  weather.  Last  evening  I 
sat  out  for  an  hour  and  more  in  the  porch  and  had  a 
long  call  from  Mrs.  Higginson,  and  a  short  call  from 
Mrs.  Whitman,  and  then  sat  up  to  supper.  So  you  see 
I  am  getting  slowly  but  surely  stronger  to  greet  you 
on  your  return,  and,  by  the  way,  you  have  never  told 
me  what  day  in  August  you  sail  on  nor  by  what  ship? 
As  soon  as  you  have  kissed  your  relations  on  the  wharf 
you  remember  you  are  coming  straight  to  Castle  Rack- 
rent  for  a  quiet  week?  I  know  several  people  who  will 
be  glad  enough  to  get  you  home  again  —  and  the  Ser- 
mons are  waiting  for  you  in  my  drawer  with  their 
belated  birthday  greetings  —  and  Mamma  and  I  are 
prepared  to  quarrel  as  to  whose  friend  you  are.  She 
says  I  stole  you  from  her.  Did  I? 

Mrs.  Bell  writes  that  even  the  roads  at  Mattapoisett 
don't  turn  but  go  straight  ahead  —  nowhere  —  and  that 
as  there  are  no  rocks  to  be  warned  from  she  supposes 
the  lighthouse  is  to  prevent  people's  coming  to  those 


240  1897 

shores  for  the  summer.  Mrs.  Pratt  wrote  Mrs.  Whit- 
man that  "it  was  no  worse  to  say  it  than  to  think  it; 
Mattapoisett  was  the  derndest  place,"  but  I  daresay  they 
are  having  a  very  pleasant  time  notwithstanding  all. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Thursday,  July  29. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

As  one  would  run  to  the  gate  to  meet  a  dear  friend 
and  then  greet  her  again  at  the  porch,  so  I  like  to  send 
you  a  little  message  of  love  at  each  stage  of  your  jour- 
ney, and  when  you  come  aboard  ship  your  face  will 
really  be  turned  homeward. 

You  will  have  closed  that  page  of  your  life  and  will 
have  turned  back  to  the  sad,  familiar  ones  again.  And 
I  hope  your  return  will  not  be  as  sad  as  you  fancy. 
Our  lives  would  be  dreadful  if  the  past  had  no  power 
to  illuminate  the  present,  and  if  associations  were  not 
like  a  pale  kind  of  sunshine  in  days  otherwise  so  dark. 

The  memories  of  the  past  and  the  great  hopes  of  the 
future  ought  to  be  like  strong  wings  to  us  all  —  I  wish 
they  were  always.  Do  you  remember  Mr.  Brooks's 
speaking  of  ' '  frivolity  and  despair,  those  two  benight- 
eners  of  the  human  soul "?  and  the  last,  I  fancy,  is  even 
worse  than  the  former.  I  have  been  struck,  in  read- 
ing Ecclesiasticus  lately,  how  many  warnings  there  are 
for  the  hopeless  and  discouraged.  The  "  Woe  unto  you 
that  have  lost  patience,"  and  "  Woe  be  to  fearful  hearts 
and  faint  hands,"  followed  by  "Ye  that  fear  the  Lord 
hope  for  good  and  for  everlasting  joy." 


Aet.  28  241 

Here's  quite  a  sermon  which  I  have  been  preaching,  — 
but  more  to  myself  than  to  you,  and  I  will  end  it  with 
three  lines  which  I  have  just  come  across  in  Brown- 
ing's "  La  Saisiaz:  " 

While  for  love  —  Oh,  how  but  losing  love  does  who  so  loves 

succeed 
By  the  death-pang  to  the  birth-throe  —  learning  what  is  love 

indeed  ? 
Only  grant  my  soul  may  carry  high  through  death  her  cup 

unspilled. 

I  need  not  tell  you  I  am  always 

Lovingly  yours. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  Friday  Morn  [August]. 
Darling  Tomahawk, 

Mamma  and  I  almost  wept  with  joy  when  we  heard 
of  our  little  Soeur  de  Charite  lying  out  in  a  canoe  under 
the  stars  just  like  other  people.  And  what  beautiful 
weather  you  are  having  now!  My  mound  was  still  too 
wet  for  me  to  sit  on  yesterday  afternoon,  so  we  dallied 
in  the  porch  and  drank  sarsaparilla  —  this  time  not 
served  us  by  our  "dainty  sarsaparilliere,"  as  Bella  and 
I  remarked  with  a  smile.  For  those  dear  old  Curtises 
say  some  of  them  are  coming  over  every  day  and  this 
time  it  was  Elinor  and  Bella  again.  Later  Joe  and 
Maggie  came  for  a  little  call  —  a  very  little  one,  as  they 
were  walking  home  to  supper  and  I  imagine  Sir  Henry 
Lee  of  Ditchley  brooks  not  delay.  She  perfectly  irradi- 
ated happiness  and  affection,  and  dear  old  Joe  sat  and 
basked  in  it.  I've  come  round  to  your  opinion,  and 


242  1897 

think  he's  got  the  very  one  only  person  for  him.  "His 
atmosphere,"  as  Mrs.  Whitman  says.  Maggie  and  I 
kissed  at  parting  and  then  were  both  took  rather  shy. 
We  must  have  them  to  supper  every  week  in  Septem- 
ber. Do  you  think  it  would  be  more  appropriate  to 
ask  them  with  Mrs.  Dexter  or  Miss  Milberry? 

Mamma  has  gone  out  for  her  little  drive  and  I  am 
just  gloating  on  the  sea  and  sky  on  my  piazza.  A  few 
moments  ago  a  doll's  Bengal  tiger  came  strolling  up  the 
road  out  of  the  shadow  into  the  sunny  strip.  There  is 
a  lamb's  kidney  waiting  for  her  when  she  comes  in. 

Last  night  when  she  came  up  to  the  porch  at  supper 
time  the  milk  boy's  fox  terrier  barred  the  way,  —  and 
then  made  quite  a  fierce  rush  at  her,  growling  and  bark- 
ing. Dickson  came  gallantly  to  the  rescue  and  coaxed 
Sans-G-ene  down  from  the  oak-tree  where  she  had  re- 
treated and  brought  her  in  with  her  tail  as  big  as  Gam- 
mardge's  arm.  Dickson  is  a  nice  boy! 

Did  Dickson  tell  you  of  little  Robert's  devoting  over 
an  hour  to  one  small  pool  of  water  on  the  rocks,  "  so  as 
to  find  out  everything  that  was  in  it"?  Mamma  said 
it  was  like  William  and  Lucy  Smith  examining  the 
grassy  top  of  a  wall  —  inch  by  inch  —  when  they  were 
engaged. 

"Yes,"  said  the  scoffing  Tuncle;  "'Angelic  Lucy, 
here  is  a  spider! '  '  Soul's  William,  I  see  an  ant! ' " 

Uncle  Melly's  day  off  hasn't  crystalized  yet,  but  next 
week  he  is  going  to  Sorrento.  At  least  so  he  says. 

Later. 

Mamma  has  just  got  back,  bringing  letters  from  Mrs. 
Bell  and  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Ellen,  but  none  from  you  — 


Aet.  28  243 

which  is  a  disappointment.  It  will  come  this  after- 
noon, I  suppose.  I  enclose  Ellen's  because  it  is  thin. 

Mrs.  Bell  is  to  go  with  Mrs.  Pratt  for  one  night  to 
Mrs.  Howe,  who  really  needs  them,  but  all  other  invi- 
tations she  declines,  so  she  "  can't  follow  where  her 
heart  unwillingly  goes,"  etc.  She  says  she  has  ubeen 
haunted  all  her  life  by  the  fear  of  waking  up  dead  at 
some  unfortunate  friend's  house."  Doesn't  that  sound 
like  her? 

So  you  call  yourself  a  spider?  What  do  you  think  of 
me,  weaving  all  this  long  web  out  of  nothing? 

I  see  I  have  left  out  three  words,  "  One  more  triumph 

for  devils  and  sorrow  for  angels." 

Your  angelic 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

Wednesday  Morn  [August]. 
Dear  Gregory, 

Is  it  bubbling  hot  with  you?  The  grasshoppers  seem 
to  like  it,  and  hiss  and  buzz  and  sizzle  like  doughnuts  in 
a  frying  kettle.  Sans-Gene  came  lanking  in  at  nine 
quite  exhausted  with  the  heat  and  now  she  is  asleep  in 
her  bassinet.  Gammardge  didn't  tell  you  how  she  did 
arrive,  as  I  prophesied,  just  after  you  left  yesterday, 
—  her  necktie  untied  and  torn  and  dirty  from  the  haste 
she  had  made  and  her  little  bunch  of  catkins  wilting  in 
her  mit-clad  hand.  She  flumped  down  outside  our  door 
with  a  mew  when  she  found  you  were  gone  and  was 


244:  1897 

afterwards  'tic  to  'tomach  —  from  disappointment,  she 
said,  but  some  think  from  an  over-indulgence  in  fishes' 
heads. 

Did  Dickson  show  you  Dorr's  coat  of  arms,  which  he 
has  been  looking  up  for  a  book  plate?  Three  heraldic 
boars'  heads.  I  suggested  the  motto,  "La  nature  l>a 
fait  sanglier  —  la  civilization  Va  fait  cochon." 

Bella  looked  poorly.  She  and  Elinor  had  been  over 
seeing  Amy  Coolidge,  and  of  course  Bella  had  William's 
supper  much  on  her  mind.  Fancy  William  Blake  de- 
pending on  his  victuals. 

Hug  Ethel  and  Lily  for  me  and  write  me  just  how 
they  are  and  all  about  them. 

Oh,  Spidrousness,  this  is  but  an  empty  web  without 
you  and  I  am  like  a  desolate  dried  fly  hanging  in  one 

corner  —  once 

Your  festive 

NANNY. 
To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 

September  15. 
Dear  Nelinor, 

I  am  so  anxious  to  hear  whether  your  bird  has  flown 
as  well  as  mine  —  a  tomahawk. 

I  am  afraid  she  went  up  yesterday  alone,  for  Uncle 
Melly  thinks  Ethel  doesn't  get  off  till  today.  However, 
all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  and  what  a  lovely  time  those 
three  little  friends  will  have  together  in  that  earthly 
paradise,  chaperoning  Adam  and  Eve! 

When  I  asked  Paulina  if  I  might  have  a  cigar  box 
full  of  sand  for  slips  she  said  I  wanted  "  the  earth  with 


Aet.  28  245 

a  fence  round  it,"  but  ha!  ha!  now  she  is  gone  I  have 
asked  Joe  Clark  for  a  sand-box,  and  mean  to  spend  my 
substance  in  riotous  slipping.  I  have  chosen  you  as 
my  companion  in  vice.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be 
awfully  nice  if  we  could  make  a  few  tries  at  those  yel- 
low Irish  roses  you  met  in  the  village.  I  say  this  ten- 
tatively —  as  dear  departed  Jean  Ingelow  would  say  — 
as  you  would  have  to  do  the  begging;  and  have  you  any 
big  sweet-briars  that  wouldn't  notice  a  lost  branch,  or 
anything  else  juicy  in  the  rose  line  to  spare?  I  have 
enough  wichuriana  and  polyantha  already,  which  you 
must  help  me  pot  later.  You  see  what  an  honor  it  is 
to  be  chosen  as  my  companion  in  these  little  affairs. 
Yours  on  her  hind  legs  with  her  paws  a-dangle, 

NANNY  Doa. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

Thursday  Morn, 
September  16th. 
Dearest  Tweeby, 

As  you  know  my  desire  for  ' '  the  earth  with  a  fence 
round  it "  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  have 
got  a  box  filled  with  sand,  by  that  nice  Joe  Clark,  and 
meditate  verbena  slips.  How  else  shall  the  Roman 
arena  be  supplied? 

At  other  moments  I  crane  out  my  window  and  watch 
my  new  garden-bed,  which  has  been  dug  and  refilled  in 
layers  and  needs  only  to  be  peppered  with  wood-ashes 
to  be  a  perfect  thing.  Already  before  the  eye  of  my 
imagination  I  see  a  thick  screen  of  climbing  roses  and 


24:6  1897 

a  high  hedge  of  sweet-peas  —  all  blossom  and  no  stick. 
But  lest  you  should  think  you  were  getting  a  business 
letter  from  Asa  Gray  I  will  change  the  subject  —  first 
inquiring  if  that  dear  Ethel  is  going  to  let  Walter  give 
some  small  roses  green-house  room  for  me  next  winter? 

Do  you  think  at  my  present  rising-scale  weight  I 
could  be,  in  any  sense,  called  "a  slip  of  a  girl"?  — 
which  reminds  me  that  when  Ben  and  William  were 
bearing  me  upstairs  yesterday,  faint  and  done-up  after 
my  drive,  William  said  to  Ben,  "  This  is  a  ten-pound 
heavier  load  than  last  year,  Ben."  "  Yes,  indeed,"  said 
Ben,  cheerfully,  "and  that's  a  good  sign!"  If  that's 
their  idea  of  encouraging  the  fat  sick  —  excuse  me! 

Oh,  Twiney,  that  drive  was  such  a  failure!  I  have 
been  singing  ' '  Willow,  tit- willow  "  ever  since. 

But  I'm  recovered  this  lovely  morning,  and  looking 
forward  to  my  call  from  Mrs.  Dexter. 

Ellen  has  just  got  home  from  Newport. 

She  says  that  dinners  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  peo- 
ple are  now  the  fashion  —  shade  of  Lord  Chesterfield, 
what  would  you  say  to  that?  —  and  it  is  bad  form  to 
speak  of  your  cook  as  "she."  It  is  either  "him"  or 
"  they,"  so  I  now  say  that  "they  have  over-boiled  my 
egg  »  —  or  possibly  dropped  it  among  them. 

Other  news  there  is  none  except  that  pussy  is  her 
"  Gammardge's  only  comfort,"  and  that  I  had  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Bell,  which  of  course  had  been  missent  to 
Winchester,  perhaps  because  the  M  and  A  were  partic- 
ularly plain. 


Aet.  28  247 

Go  on  having  a  beautiful  time,  but  don't  forget  there's 
one  who  loves  you  fond,  and  that's 

Your 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Monday  Eve, 

September  20. 
My  dearest,  dear  Tweeby, 

It  is  a  rainy  afternoon  and  Mrs.  Whitman  has  just 
ridden  off  on  her  broomstick,  leaving  the  world  to  Gam- 
mardge  and  to  me.  Shall  I  omit  Sans-Gene,  who,  see- 
ing my  table  spread  over  me,  has  crouched  down  on  my 
knees,  purring  loudly.  She  thinks  she  has  been  'vited, 
poor  lamb. 

I  suppose  you  saw  in  the  last  number  of  our  favorite 
sheet  a  final  letter  on  the  subject  of  "  Squirrel-cide." 
Luckily  for  Kitty,  the  words  "No  more  of  this  —  Ed 
Spec "  appeared  below,  or  we  should  see  her  name 
appearing  unfavorably  in  print,  for  yesterday  she 
brought  a  poor  little  red  squirrel  corpse  to  my  door, 
and  as  pleased  with  herself  as  possible,  the  little 
wretch! 

We  got  two  dear,  scrabbly  letters  from  you  today  and 
you  speak  of  Thursday,  but  don't  hurry  off  on  our 
account,  for  we  are  doing  nicely. 

Of  course,  as  I  politely  tell  Momb,  existence  without 
you  is  a  world  without  a  sun.  But  Nansen,  I  believe, 
managed  very  well  by  lighting  up  the  Fram  and  invent- 
ing lots  of  work  and  play.  It  was  only  Kane's  dogs 
that  went  mad  in  the  hold.  "Mad  as  hatters,"  I  hear 
you  say,  "  in  a  darkness  that  could  be  felt." 


248  1897 

I  am  so  glad  Professor  James  did  come,  but  after 
meeting  all  the  worthies  in  the  Elysian  Fields  will  you 
be  content  to  return  to  a  work-a-day  world  and  the 
striped  arms  of  a  Pusstress?  There  will  be  two  human 

pairs  beside. 

Your  own 

NANNY. 
To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

Thursday  Eve, 

October  8. 
Dearest  Ethel, 

To  begin  with  business:  Paulina  wants  me  to  tell  you 
she  shan't  be  able  to  get  to  Waltham  this  week  till  Sun- 
day afternoon  as  she  has  promised  to  take  supper  at  the 
Higginsons  on  Saturday  to  meet  those  distinguished 
strangers,  Mr.  and  Miss  Hooper.  Now  that  we  have 
seen  Ellen  her  absence  seems  like  a  dream  —  and  how 
dearly  natural  she  looks.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much 
we  enjoyed  our  glimpse  of  George,  and  I  hope  it  is  the 
beginning  of  many,  tho'  I  know  how  full  to  overflow- 
ing his  life  is,  as  well  as  Lily's,  of  interests  and  occu- 
pations. It  is  to  you,  dear  Linka,  we  chiefly  look  to 
keep  a  wide  enough  margin  for  all  the  foolish,  running 
comments  we  like  to  make  along  the  real,  serious, 
printed  matter  of  life,  so  to  speak.  As  one  grows 
older  one  more  and  more  divides  one's  de*ar  friends  into 
those  one  likes  to  see,  and  those  one  needs,  and  you  and 
Lily  have  become  a  necessity  of  our  lives.  So  take 
great  care  of  your  dear  self  and  be  able  to  come  often 


Aet.  28  249 

to  see  me,  for  I  am  hungry  for  a  sight  of  you.  The 
thought  of  how  many  miles  nearer  we  shall  be  to  Wal- 
tham  reconciles  us  to  the  thought  of  leaving  this  beau- 
tiful out-of-door  life  so  soon. 

Do  you  remember  how,  in  the  notes  to  the  Koumanian 
Folk  Songs,  it  tells  how  the  young  women  there  each 
have  one  intimate  friend  who  is  called  her  ' (  little  sister 
of  the  cross  "  ?  Isn't  it  a  sweet  name  for  so  sacred  a 

tie? 

Your  loving 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Monday  Morn. 
My  precious  Hawk, 

This  is  just  to  say  that  the  household  is  getting  along 
as  well  as  it  can  away  from  the  protecting  shadow  of 
your  ebon  wing. 

Do  you  suppose  the  person  in  Browning  who  said,  "  So 
I  shall  see  her  in  three  days  and  just  one  night,  but 
nights  are  short,"  was  a  forlorn  young  woman  whose 
sister  had  gone  on  a  visit  to  the  suburbs? 

Kitty  has  just  meowed  at  one  of  Mamma's  sneezes  and 
had  to  be  comforted.  That  is  my  chief  bit  of  news  — 
or  mews. 

For  the  rest,  it  was  Miss  Mason,  rather  than  her  fat 
cousin,  who  came  yesterday  afternoon,  and  I  missed 
Fanny.  Mamma  was  kept  all  day  on  a  strict  diet  of 
the  "Jewish  Church"  and  Robertson,  with  Habakkuk 
for  a  treat,  but  then  he,  you  know,  is  "  capable  de  tout." 

Kiss  Ellen  for  me  and  then  get  her  to  kiss  you  from 

Your 

NANNY. 


250  1897 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[Nov.  12.] 
Dearest  Ethel, 

When  we  saw  the  snow  this  morning  we  thought  at 
once  "and  now  our  Linka  won't  be  able  to  come  in," 
and  we  howled  with  the  wind. 

Your  roses  are  close  beside  me,  but  I  long  to  kiss  the 
sender  and  have  her  blessing  on  the  year  to  come  —  a 
year  made  brighter  by  the  thought  of  her  friendship. 

I  came  down  to  tea  Wednesday  and  my  little  party 
was  a  great  success.  Elinor  didn't  drop  in  till  it  was 
all  over  —  indeed,  I  knew  she  wouldn't  feel  like  coming 
—  but  the  other  nine  assembled  with  great  promptness, 
beginning  with  Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs.  Lodge,  and  ending 
with  Mr.  Higginson.  The  trouble  was,  it  was  all  stars 
and  no  sky. 

Yesterday  I  lay  still,  so  don't  look  severe,  my  Red 
Queen,  but  go  on  loving 

Your  social  and  aged 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

[Nov.] 
Dearest  Ethel, 

Lily's  roses  are  on  my  table  and  the  old  room  itself 
seems  to  blossom  with  the  memory  of  the  happy  sight 
of  her  with  her  lover. 

Till  I  saw  him  I  didn't  think  any  one  could  be  good 
enough  for  Lily,  but  my  heart  went  out  to  him  more 
and  more,  and  now  I  think  of  them  together  —  one 
incomplete  without  the  other. 

Lily  has  entered  into  this  experience  so  sweetly  and 


Aet.  29  251 

solemnly  that  the  light  shines  through  her  on  to  us. 
The  whole  world  seems  brighter. 

It  is  as  if  we  had  all  tasted  of  the  great  cup  of  joy 
which  God  put  first  into  her  hands,  and  you  most 
deeply  of  all,  my  darling. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 
Monday. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

[Christmas.] 
My  dearest  old  Elinor, 

I  can't  let  Christmas  come  and  go  without  its  bring- 
ing a  word  of  love  from  me  to  you. 

I  know  all  the  sad  and  lonely  thoughts  that  will  come 
crowding  round  this  first  Christmas  ' '  when  the  strong 
voice  is  silent  and  the  dear  face  gone,"  but  the  saddest 
days  are  not  always  the  hardest  days  to  bear,  and  the 
day  itself  brings  much  of  joy  with  it. 

And  friendship  means  so  much  —  means  more  and 
more  as  the  years  go  by. 

Yours  does  to  me,  I  know. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 
Christmas  Eve. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

My  own  darling, 

My  thoughts  will  be  with  you  and  yours  tomorrow, 
but  I  know  that  amidst  all  the  sadness  of  this  first 
Christmas  without  the  sunshine  of  her  visible  presence 
the  day  itself  brings  its  own  deep  joy  with  it  —  throb- 
bing up  like  the  color  from  a  jewel's  heart. 


252  1897 

On  Christmas  morning  we  must  all  feel  a  little  as  the 
Shepherds  felt  when  the  sky  opened  and  the  angels 
sang  —  our  angels  bidding  us  rejoice  with  them  that 
Heaven  is  drawing  so  close  to  the  dear  old  earth. 

The  veil 

Is  lifting,  and  the  voices  of  the  day 
Are  heard  across  the  voices  of  the  dark. 

Yours  in  joy  and  sorrow, 

ALICE. 
Christmas  Eve. 


Aet.  29  253 

FROM   HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

Hope,  the  paramount  duty  that  Heaven  lays, 
For  its  own  honour,  on  man's  suffering  heart. 

March  9. 

" Now, "  says  one  of  the  Friends  of  God,  "notwith- 
standing all  the  gifts  and  enlightenment  that  God  be- 
stowed on  me  there  was  yet  a  secret  spot  in  my  soul; 
and  it  was  that  when  I  looked  upon  my  fellow-men  I 
esteemed  them  as  they  were  in  this  present  time  and 
stood  before  God  in  their  sins,  and  this  was  a  hidden 
spot,  for  I  ought,  through  grace,  to  have  regarded  them 
not  as  they  now  were,  but  as  they  might  well  become. 
.  .  .  Oh,  thou  poor,  miserable  creature,  how  strange 
thou  art!  .  .  .  How  darest  thou,  then,  to  esteem  ac- 
cording to  what  he  now  is  thy  fellow-man,  who  is 
made  in  the  image  of  God,  and  whom  Christ  has  made 
His  brother  in  his  human  nature,  and  not  rather  de- 
cree that  God  may  make  of  him  a  comely  and  excellent 
garden  wherein  He  Himself  may  dwell." 

It  is  good  for  us  to  be  on  the  Mount,  but  only  on 
the  condition  that  when  we  have  ' '  looked  upon  the 
glory  "  we  descend  to  take  our  part  in  the  conflicts  and 
sorrows  of  common  life. 

The  Jews  have  a  beautiful  thought,  that  an  angel 
only  lives  while  he  serves. 

There  is  an  exceeding  bitter  myrrh  which  God  gives, 
namely,  inward  assaults  and  inward  darkness.  When 
a  man  is  willing  to  taste  this  myrrh  and  does  not  put  it 
from  him  it  wears  down  flesh  and  blood,  —  yea,  the 
whole  nature,  —  for  God  appoints  unto  His  servants 


254  1898 

cruel  fightings,  and  strange  dread,  and  unheard-of  dis- 
tresses, which  none  can  understand  but  he  who  has  felt 
them,  and  these  men  are  beset  with  such  a  variety  of 
difficulties,  so  many  cups  of  bitterness  are  presented 
to  them,  that  they  hardly  know  which  way  to  turn  or 
what  they  ought  to  do.  But  God  knows  right  well 
what  He  is  about. 

But  when  the  cup  is  put  away  and  these  feelings  are 
stifled  a  greater  injury  is  done  the  soul  than  can  ever  be 
amended.  For  no  heart  can  conceive  in  what  surpassing 
love  God  gives  us  this  myrrh,  yet  this  which  we  ought 
to  receive  to  our  soul's  good  we  suffer  to  pass  by  us  in 
our  sleepy  indifference  and  nothing  comes  of  it.  Then 
we  come  to  complain,  "Alas,  Lord!  I  am  so  dry,  and  it 
is  so  dark  within  me! "  I  tell  you,  dear  child,  open  thy 
heart  to  the  pain  and  it  will  do  thee  more  good  than  if 
thou  wert  full  of  feeling  and  devoutness.  —  TAULER. 

"Dear  Lord  and  Bridegroom,  appoint  unto  me  what 
Thou  will.  I  am  willing  to  suffer  all  things  with  Thy 
help  and  in  Thy  love."  When  the  Bridegroom  heareth 
this  He  loveth  the  Bride  yet  better  than  He  did  before 
and  giveth  her  to  drink  of  a  still  better  cup.  This  cup 
is  that  she  is  to  cease  from  all  her  own  thoughts  for  she 
can  take  pleasure  in  nothing  that  is  her  own.  —  TAULER. 

The  measure  with  which  we  shall  be  measured  is  the 
faculty  of  love  in  the  Soul  —  the  will  of  a  man  —  by 
this  shall  all  his  words  and  works  be  measured. 

ST.  MICHAEL'S  AND  ALL  ANGELS'. 

Amid  a  world  of  forgetf ulness  and  dreary  in  the  sight 
of  his  own  shortcomings  and  limitations,  or  on  the  edge 


Aet.  29  255 

of  the  tomb;  he  alone  who  has  found  his  soul  in  losing 
it,  who  in  singleness  of  mind  lived  in  order  to  love  and 
understand,  will  find  that  the  God  who  is  near  to  his 
conscience  has  a  face  of  light  and  love.  —  T.  H.  GREEN. 

For  consolation's  sources  deeper  are 

Than  sorrows  deepest. 

WORDSWORTH. 

We  live  by  admiration,  hope  and  love. 


256  1898 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 
Darling, 

I  can't  let  our  great  Saint's  Day  go  by  without  a  word 
of  love  to  you. 

As  this  season  comes  round  the  years  seem  to  fade 
away  and  we  are  again  standing  on  the  Mount  of  Vision 
—  only  with  a  surer  sense  of  God's  power  to  fill  our  lone- 
liness with  His  light. 

And  five  years  ago  this  week  your  mother  came  to 
me  and  I  felt  her  loving  arms  round  me  and  the  beat- 
ing of  that  strong  and  tender  heart  which  was  never  to 
fail  me  any  more. 

If  I  could  love  you  better  than  I  do,  dearest,  it  would 
be  out  of  daily  gratitude  for  all  she  was  and  is  to  me. 

Ever  thine 

ALICE. 
January  23rd,  1898. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Dearest  Gertrude, 

I  am  keeping  these  few  days  very  quietly  and  peace- 
fully, but  I  had  a  little  faint  hope  that,  you  would  come 
today.  Perhaps  you  could  Wednesday  morning,  but 
promise  not  to  if  you  ought  to  stay  at  home.  My 
thoughts  are  with  you  all.  I  know  yesterday  did  not 
pass  without  its  bringing  its  own  sunshine  with  it  to 
light  us  on  our  way  and  to  give  a  meaning  and  a  colour 
to  the  year. 

These  sad  and  sacred  days,  so  full  of  memories  and 
hope,  cannot  but  be  times  of  deep  joy  and  refreshment 
to  us  all. 


Aet.  29  257 

Time  seems  so  little  as  one  looks  back,  does  it  not, 
and  God's  power  to  help  and  comfort  us  so  great? 

All  which  I  took  from  thee  I  did  but  take 

Not  for  thy  harms 
But  just  that  thou  might'st  seek  it  in  my  arms. 

All  which  thy  child's  mistake 
Fancies  as  lost,  I  have  stored  for  thee  at  home. 
Rise,  clasp  my  hand,  and  come. 

Give  my  tenderest  sympathy  to  your  mother,  and 
believe  me, 

Always  yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 

Monday,  January  24th,  1898. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

Sunday  Morning, 

February  13. 
Dearest  Elinor, 

Isn't  it  delightful  to  see  the  blue  sky  again  —  after 
this  long,  sad  week?  Paulina  hasn't  been  allowed  to  see 
Ethel  yet,  whose  wound  is  healing  well,  but  very,  very 
slowly,  while  Lily  begins  to  look  quite  white,  after  the 
long  strain,  and  with  all  her  wedding  preparations 
before  her.  . 

Mrs.  William  Brooks  is  so  feeble  and  poorly  that  they 
have  finally  got  a  trained  nurse  for  her,  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
man has  been  in  great  trouble  all  the  week  over  Mrs. 
Lockwood's  illness  and  death. 

But  what  has  wrung  my  heart  most  has  been  Mr. 
Balch's  death,  and  the  light  gone  out  of  another  home. 
He  was  a  perfect  saint  upon  earth,  you  know,  and  I 
have  been  able  to  think  of  nothing  but  those  poor  girls, 


258  1898 

and  especially  Bessie,  who  was  coming  to  see  me  that 
very  day,  and  who,  I  feared,  was  in  no  condition  to 
bear  such  a  shock,  but  I  have  had  a  brave,  sweet  letter 
from  her,  full  of  joy  for  him  and  peace  and  comfort  for 
themselves. 

I  hope  your  mother  is  doing  bravely,  and  it  must  be 
a  comfort  for  her  to  have  the  world  shut  out  and  her 
sacred  days  so  still.  I  think  of  you  all  so  much,  but  I 
cannot  think  of  you  without  your  father,  and  I  am  sure 
you  are  to  be  together  in  the  future,  as  you  have  been 
in  the  past,  and  as  you  must  be,  in  some  real  sense, 

even  now. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

March  9th. 
Dearest  Ethel, 

Did  you  ever  see  this  little  poem  of  Tennyson's,  which 
I  thought  would  speak  to  you  today,  at  the  close  of  one 
year  and  the  beginning  of  another,  in  which  we  hope 
that  those  whose  visible  presence  has  gone  out  from 
among  us  may  be  nearer  and  nearer  to  us  in  the  spirit? 

I  could  not  help  thinking,  this  morning,  of  that  verse 
in  "In  Memoriam,"  — 

Come  —  not  in  watches  of  the  night, 
But  where  the  sunbeam  broodeth  warm  ; 
Come,  beauteous  in  thine  after  form, 
And  like  a  finer  light  in  light. 

In  the  inner  sanctuary  of  our  lives,  where  we  turn  in 
the  deepest  moments  of  joy  and  sorrow  and  bewilder- 
ment, certain  great  figures  seem  to  stand  "  to  bear  wit- 
ness of  that  light,"  like  beautiful  windows  full  of  the 


Aet.  29  259 

rich  colors  of  their  own  personality,  and  filling  our  gray 
lives  with  new  glow  and  radiance. 

Mine  seems  very  full  today. 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 

To  MR.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

[May  19.] 
My  dear  Mr.  Paine, 

The  wedding  roses  that  you  sent  me  are  only  another 
sweet  link  in  the  long  chain  that  binds  our  households 
together.  You  know  how  our  hearts  ached  and  re- 
joiced with  you  yesterday.  It  was  all  so  solemn  and 
beautiful,  and  Lily's  face  was  so  full  of  peace,  that 
who  could  but  feel  that  at  such  a  moment,  and  in  that 
place,  her  mother  and  Mr.  Brooks  must  be  very  near 
her? 

Few  can  carry  into  the  new  life  the  memory  of  a  past 

so  rich  in  blessings. 

Yours  in  true  sympathy, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Ascension  Day. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

MANCHESTER,  August  16th. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

And,  after  all,  you  never  wrote  the  "  long  letter  full 
of  plans"  you  promised  me  and  I  have  let  all  these 
weeks  slip  by  in  silence  —  not  f orgetfulness.  All  our 
hearts,  I  think,  have  been  with  the  soldiers,  and  now, 
even  with  this  much-longed-for  Peace  really  come,  our 
rejoicing  is  all  blurred  with  the  thought  of  their  unnec- 
essary suffering  —  this  wanton  waste  of  precious  life. 


260  1898 

Bessie  Foster  was  with  us  those  first  terrible  weeks  of 
July  —  reading  the  papers  aloud  to  me  and  working  for 
the  ' '  Volunteer  Aid  "  with  Paulina,  and  we  who  had 
no  one  near  and  dear  at  the  front  learned  a  little  what 
war  must  mean  to  those  with  loved  ones  in  the  midst 
of  it,  and  for  years  instead  of  days.  I  hope  you  think 
as  I  do,  that  this  was  a  righteous  war,  undertaken  by 
the  Nation  as  a  whole,  for  humanitarian  reasons?  No 
one  could  doubt,  could  they,  that  it  has  been  all  bright 
with  heroism  and  chivalrous  treatment  of  the  foe?  If 
only  we  make  a  peace  worthy  of  it!  As  for  the  Porto 
Rican  campaign,  it  has  been  painfully  like  a  comic 
opera  after  the  tragedy  of  Santiago.  Ponce  yielded  to 
Mrs.  Lodge's  brother's  ship,  on  which  our  friend  Bay 
Lodge  commands  two  guns.  Constance's  husband  is  on 
General  Wilson's  staff,  but  poor  Harry  Curtis  never  got 
further  than  Tampa,  and  an  old  great-aunt's  husband 
of  ours,  who  was  made  a  Brigadier  General  of  Artillery, 
never  got  beyond  the  inglorious  drill  of  Chickamauga. 

But  to  leave  these  national  themes.  About  the  mid- 
dle of  July  I  fell  ill  from  too  much  excitement  and  am 
just  beginning  to  pick  up  again.  That  is  why  I  haven't 
written  earlier. 

And  now,  dear,  how  are  you  and  where  are  you? 

Of  course  we  must  have  a  regular  day  of  meeting 
next  winter,  if  it  is  only  every  fortnight. 

Mamma  and  Paulina  are  well,  and  my  uncle,  who  lives 
with  us,  and  the  pets  who  make  so  large  a  part  of  our 
very  quiet  lives. 

Dickson's  large  small-family  is  in  Pittsfield,  so  that 
he  spends  his  week-days  with  us,  or  as  much  of  them 
as  he  can  tear  away  from  the  new  house  he  is  build- 
ing in  Cambridge. 


Aet.  29  261 

Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Whitman's  window  at  Memorial 
Hall,  and  how  do  you  like  it? 

Please  remember  me  to  Emily.  I  think  of  you  all 
often. 

Your  loving 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

October  27th,  1898. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

That  * '  number  200  "  on  this  envelope  makes  me  feel 
a  little  as  if  I  were  addressing  the  hero  of  one  of  Rud- 
yard  Kipling's  novels,  but  I  trust  it  is  all  right. 

Well,  here  we  are  safely  at  Home  (with  a  big  H) 
and  feel  as  if  the  two  weeks  we  had  been  here  were 
years  instead,  and  I  wish  you  could  see  my  pretty  new- 
old  room  with  its  new  paint,  and  green  paper,  and  its 
chairs  and  curtains  all  covered  with  big,  old-fashioned 
red  and  blue  peonies  to  go  with  my  carved  bed.  It  was 
a  surprise  from  Mamma  and  Paulina  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
man —  and  I  feel  as  if  a  fairy  godmother's  wand  had 
turned  my  pumpkin  into  a  beautiful  new  coach  and  yet 
left,  shining  thro'  all,  the  shape  and  associations  of  the 
dear  old  familiar  vegetable.  I  have  been  seeing  lots  of 
my  friends  —  Bessie  Foster  again  before  she  sailed,  and 
people  who  have  moved  to  town,  and  those  whom  we 
catch  on  the  wing  and  laugh  at  because  they  are  still 
country  mice  —  if  mice  are  ever  are  on  the  wing. 
' '  Where  Rob  Roy  sets  there  is  the  head  of  the  table, " 
and  when  we  are  in  Boston  we  feel  that  winter  is 
begun. 


262  1898 

Mrs.  Bell  came  in  last  Saturday,  and  they  are  so 
pleased  with  French's  statue  of  their  father  (tho'  she 
says  one  can  never  feel  intimate  with  a  bronze  statue), 
and  still  more  with  Joe  Choate's  speech  at  ' '  the  unveil- 
ing "  at  the  Court  House  last  week.  Paulina  went  with 
Mr.  Higginson  —  and  as  Uncle  Melville  —  and  thought 
it  a  very  fine  speech,  charmingly  delivered.  After- 
wards Mr.  Higginson  introduced  her  to  Mr.  Choate. 

But  a  foreign  stamp  is  worse  than  a  sonnet  for  cramp- 
ing one's  poetical  flow  of  inspiration  and  I  want  to  ask 
you  all  about  yourself  —  and  the  voyage  and  your  new 
world. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  nice  it  was  to  see  you  again  and 
to  see  you  taking  up  the  burden  of  life  once  more  with 
so  brave  and  hopeful  a  heart. 

Always  most  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  30  263 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

Despair  is  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost. —  LUTHER. 

But  if  all  who  may  count  themselves  happy  were  to 
tell  very  simply  what  it  was  that  brought  happiness  to 
them,  the  others  would  see  that  between  sorrow  and  joy 
the  difference  is  but  as  between  a  gladsome,  enlightened 
acceptance  of  life  and  a  hostile,  gloomy  submission. 

MAETERLINCK. 

September. 

Who  can  so  exalt  himself  as  to  comprehend  this  one 
line  of  St.  Peter's:  "Rejoice  inasmuch  as  ye  are  par- 
takers of  Christ's  suffering." 

In  Paradise  there  will  be  little  dogs  with  golden  hair 
shining  like  precious  stones.  The  foliage  of  the  trees 
and  the  verdure  of  the  grass  will  have  the  brilliancy  of 
emeralds,  and  we  ourselves  shall  have  the  same  friends 
as  here  but  infinitely  more  perfect.  —  MARTIN  LUTHER. 

Blessed  are  the  valiant  that  have  lived  in  the  Lord. 
Amen,  said  the  Spirit.  —  CARLYLE'S  "  Cromwell." 

Woe  unto  him  that  is  faint  hearted,  for  he  believeth 

not.  —  ECCLESIASTES,    til,  13. 


264:  1899 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 
Sunday,  January  1,  1899. 

Well,  dear  Bessie,  a  very  happy  New  Year  to  you  — 
first  in  Japan  and  then  at  home  —  and  I  trust  it  isn't 
too  late  to  hope  that  all  Christmas  joys  were  yours. 

We  had  Dickson's  children  to  their  tree  and  our 
family  dinner  on  Saturday,  so  that  we  had  a  beautiful, 
quiet  Christmas  Day  all  to  ourselves.  I  sometimes 
think  that  all  the  little  happiness  of  Christmas  —  the 
excitement  of  presents  and  all  the  kind  thoughts  of 
friends,  and  the  meetings  and  pretty  customs,  hide 
from  us  the  deep  joy  of  the  day  itself.  ' '  The  Word 
became  flesh  —  that  foundation  of  endless  hope  stands 
fast  and  we  can  stay  our  souls  upon  it." 

So  the  All-Great  were  the  All-Loving  too. 

So,  through  the  thunder,  sounds  a  human  voice. 

How  one's  heart  turns  to  one's  Browning  on  these 
great  days  —  our  modern  David.  Don't  you  feel  the 
devout  Jew  in  him  throbbing  to  his  very  finger  tips? 

Lovingly, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  S.  HOOPER. 

Dearest  Ellen, 

Your  lilies  brought  their  own  Easter  message  with 
them. 

On  these  great  days  we  seem  to  go  up,  as  Moses  did, 
into  Mount  Pisgah,  and  from  the  heights  the  desert  be- 


Aet.  30  265 

hind  us  seems  very  short,  and  the  Land  of  Promise  very 
near,  and  the  same  sky  over  both. 

Memory  is  "not  burden,  but  wings!"  And  you, 
darling,  who  have  served  me  so  richly  with  your  love 
and  sympathy  these  sad  six  years,  I  keep  you  always 
in  my  heart  of  hearts. 

I  wish  you  had  known  him  —  some  day  you  will, 

please  God. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

NANNY. 
January  24th,  1899. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  BROOKS. 

January  25th,  1899. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Brooks, 

I  am  afraid  these  days  find  you  very  sad  and  ill  and 
anxious  —  with  strength  little  up  to  the  new  burdens 
and  cares  laid  upon  you. 

How  dare  I  make  light  of  such  troubles,  or  bid  you, 
who  bear  them  so  sweetly,  take  courage? 

And  yet  I  know  that  there  is  an  especial  message  of 
hope  for  us  all  to  bear  to  one  another  now  that  our  Mr. 
Greatheart  has  left  us.  "  And  if  at  any  time  you  see 
my  children  faint  speak  comfortably  to  them." 

Yet  how  feeble  our  voices  would  sound  if  there  was 
not  behind  them  the  Divine  blessing  for  those  who 
mourn  and  who  are  weary  and  heavy-laden. 

When  our  own  hearts  are  bruised  and  aching  we  can 
sometimes  best  feel  the  deep  joy  at  the  heart  of  things 
and  understand  that  it  is  indeed  those  that  walk  in 
darkness  who  have  seen  a  great  light,  and  they  that 
dwell  in  the  land  of  the  shadow  of  death,  upon  them 
hath  the  light  shined. 


266  1899 

On  these  great  days  we  feel  that  "The  veil  is  rending 
and  the  voices  of  the  dawn  are  heard  across  the  voices 
of  the  dark." 

And  Monday,  with  all  its  crowding  memories,  must 
have  been  a  day  of  refreshment  to  you  all  —  a  day  to 
drink  great  draughts  of  hope  and  inspiration. 

Such  a  joy  as  your  household  has  had  can  never  be  a 
past  joy  —  it  must  come  welling  up  in  your  hearts  when 
the  outer  circumstances  of  life  seem  darkest. 

You  must  be  sure  that  that  constant  love  still  enfolds 
you  and  that  from  "  the  quiet  shore  "  he  feels  for  you 
the  "  painless  sympathy  with  pain." 

If,  with  his  death,  not  only  the  great  spiritual  master 
and  guide  went  out  from  among  you  —  the  tender  friend 
—  but  the  central  pillar  of  your  household  life,  how 
great  a  privilege  yours  is  to  sorrow  so  nearly  and  so 
deeply. 

What  lives  can  be  unhappy  with  such  a  memory; 
with  such  a  hope? 

' '  Behold,  I  send  an  Angel  before  thee  to  keep  thee  in 
the  way  and  to  bring  thee  into  the  place  which  I  have 
prepared." 

The  Grod  of  all  comfort  make  His  face  to  shine  upon 
you  now  and  forever. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

Feb.  4th. 
Dearest  Bessie, 

I  want  to  at  least  begin  my  letter  to  you  this  morning 
to  tell  you  that  my  thoughts  are  with  you  on  your 
Saint's  Day.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  anni- 


Aet.  30  267 

versaries,  but  to  me  they  shine  out  among  all  the  level 
days  of  the  prosaic  year  like  mountain  tops,  where  one 
looks  out  into  the  Promised  Land  and  breathes  a  finer 
air.  The  future  and  the  past  seem  to  clasp  hands,  and 
memory  is  "not  burden,  but  wings." 

As  Mrs.  Whitman  wrote  me  a  few  weeks  since,  * (  On 
these  great  days  we  seem  to  have  a  new  window 
toward  Jerusalem, "  and  so  I  hope  today  will  have  been 
to  you  a  day  of  deep  joy  and  refreshment  —  of  real 
home  so  far  away. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Wednesday,  Ten  o'clock. 

Well,  my  Precious  Bird,  you  need  not  think  you  are 
the  only  traveller,  for  have  I  not  come  all  the  way  from 
the  back  to  the  front  room  —  where  Sans-Gene  has  been 
doing  the  honours  to  me  and  the  Judge  with  "  this  is 
my  bed,"  and  "  this  is  my  window  and  my  snowstorm," 
and  "  this  my  mantelpiece  race  course." 

And  by  the  way,  how  about  this  snowstorm?  Did 
you  rush  straight  into  it,  and  were  you  much  delayed? 
We  hope  for  your  Philadelphia  letter  in  the  next  mail 
and  shall  be  glad  enough  when  the  "all  sofa  comes  to 
the  all  bed  "  — a  sort  of  modern  reading  of  Birnam  wood 
coming  to  Dunsinane. 

The  coal  —  you  see  the  connection  —  must  have 
reached  the  Cardarellis,  for  no  Eugene  turned  up,  and 
the  Zenana  funds  this  morning  have  again  reached 
the  magnificent  sum  of  three  dollars. 

Here  is  a  key,  found  between  the  rooms  and  probably 
dropped  from  the  key-basket,  but  Mamma  and  I  send 


268  1899 

it  on  the  millionth  chance  that  it  may  belong  to  your 
jewel-box.  Otherwise,  think  of  it  as  the  key  to  your 
Kutzly's  heart. 

She  smelt  all  over  your  bed  with  great  care  this  early 
morning  and  had  a  crying  bout  for  "Aunt  T."  after 
breakfast. 

One  characteristic  conversation  I  must  tell  you  before 
I  stop  to  eat  my  second  breakfast. 

Said  I  to  Gamdge,  "  Will  you  get  me  some  valen- 
tines? " 

Said  she  to  me,  "  What  kind?  Of  course  you  don't 
want  any  love  in  them." 

Fancy  such  a  valentine! 

It's  as  bad  as  an  "Expurgated  Mrs.  Hemans,"  or  as 
a  Unitarian  Hymn. 

I  have  no  such  scruples  and  sign  myself  your  Valen- 
tine, with  a  real  little  heart  skewered  through  with  a 
sort  of  heat-lightning  dart  of  affection. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

February  14th. 

With  two  men  on  the  shed  shoveling  snow  as  high  as 
their  waists. 

Well,  dearest  T.,  there  is  plenty  of  bridal  white  about 
today  if  the  poor  little  birds  have  the  heart  to  mate. 
The  Judge  has  begun  to  sing.  He  says  he  "  feels  the 
ichor  of  Spring  in  his  veins  "  —  which  is  more  than  the 
rest  of  us  do.  Yesterday  I  began  to  get  quite  desperate 
and  felt  like  the  Yankee  Uncle  Melly  overheard  say- 
ing, "I  wanted  to  turn  my  face  to  the  wall  and  let  it 
snow." 


Aet.  30  269 

Mrs.  Dexter  and  Ellen  watched  me  over  their  tea  and 
wondered  I  was  ever  depressed  by  mere  weather.  As  I 
tell  Momb,  I  am  supposed  to  be  made  of  cast-iron,  with 
no  sentiments,  but  I'm  tired  of  the  cold  and  I  want  my 
Twiney.  To  which  she  replied,  with  her  usual  sym- 
pathy, that  your  being  here  would  not  change  the  tem- 
perature. She  little  knows!  I  could  bear  it  better  if 
you  had  been  in  decent  warmth  yourself,  but  Mr. 
McKinley's  prophecy  seems  to  be  literally  true,  "  There 
is  no  more  any  South." 

Nothing  later  than  your  Saturday  letter  has  reached 
us  so  we  have  to  fancy  what  distinguished  men,  famous 
and  infamous,  you  are  meeting. 

Mrs.  Dexter  finds  our  house  very  warm  and  restful 
and  is  the  cosiest  of  guests.  We  should  hardly  know 
she  was  here,  which  is  the  highest  of  compliments. 
The  last  time  she  called  on  Mrs.  Tyson  she  found  her 
massaging  her  flying-squirrel.  Isn't  that  dear?  And 
speaking  of  the  insane  and  their  pets,  I  must  tell  you 
how  Uncle  Dickson  and  Kitty  lush  together.  He  puts 
his  head  down  on  the  floor  and  she  rubs  purring  against 
it.  They  call  it  "electric  sparking  Sunday  nights." 

Little  Nancy  is  full  of  her  approaching  birthday. 
She  said,  "  Is  I  to  have  my  friends  to  my  party?  Who 
is  my  friends?  " 

I'm  saving  you  Dr.  Huntington  on  Christian  Unity 
and  only  wish  I  had  something  equally  long  on  your 
two  other  favorite  topics,  Socialism  and  Prohibition. 

Your  bigoted,  money-loving,  intemperate 

AUNTIE  NAN. 


270  1899 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Thursday  Morn. 
Darling  T., 

When  they  knocked  at  the  bathroom  door  this  morn- 
ing to  ask  what  I  would  have  for  breakfast  I  called 
out,  "Toast  and  milk  and  a  grape  fruit  —  and  lots 
of  letters  from  Miss  Paulina,"  and  sure  enough  there 
were  two  on  my  tray  to  open  the  day  cheerfully  for  us 
—  the  ones  written  Monday  and  Tuesday  from  Wash- 
ington. I  wept  at  the  thought  of  your  naval  dinner 
party  having  died  of  the  cold.  Is  a  sailor  kept  at  bay 
by  mere  snowdrifts?  Admiral  Beaumont  wouldn't  be, 
even  though  Grandmother  Nares,  in  cap  and  specta- 
cles, cried  out  distractedly,  *  <  Come  back,  my  precious 

child." 

• 

Yesterday  at  five  I  stayed  abed  and  attired  in  Ethel's 
nightgown  and  Ellen's  coat  *  had  the  dearest  dolls'  tea- 
party  for  my  little  Owl-friend.  Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs. 
Pratt  who  stayed  for  a  comfortable  hour  and  a  half, 
and  Mrs.  Whitman  who  flew  in  unexpectedly  on  her 
broomstick,  which  had  been  harnessed  to  take  her 
to  three  Radcliffe  committees  before  the  cock  crew 
to  disperse  her.  I'm  beginning  to  be  pretty  desperate 
for  the  sound  of  your  wings  upon  the  stair  —  even 
for  your  croak  telling  me  to  write  no  more,  but  to  eat 
my  second  breakfast.  I  obey.  Sansge  sends  you  a 
whiskery  kiss. 

Your 
NANNY. 


Aet.  30  271 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

February  27th. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

I  have  put  down  the  few  things  that  turned  up  in 
our  little  talk  Thursday.  I  wish  we  could  do  more  to 
help  you  in  your  work.  The  little  sayings  one  remem- 
bers seem  but  crumbs  to  have  brought  away  from  such 
a  feast  —  and  I  suppose  it  will  be  years  before  one  hears 
of  even  a  small  part  of  those  he  helped  who  had  no  claim 
on  him  except  that  of  need.  I  always  feel  as  if  he 
had  described  himself  in  that  sermon  on  "  the  Safety 
and  Helpfulness  of  Faith  "  in  the  passage  ending  with 
"Friends  bring  their  friends  into  the  presence  of  these 
healing  lives  as  of  old  the  men  of  Jerusalem  brought 
forth  the  sick  into  the  streets  and  laid  them  on  beds  and 
couches  that  at  least  the  shadow  of  Peter  passing  by 
might  overshadow  some  of  them." 

I  have  one  friend,  who  never  heard  him  preach,  to 
whom  his  sermons  were  life  in  a  time  of  great  darkness 
—  and  I  have  another  friend  who,  a  firm  believer  in 
another  creed  and  church,  in  the  perplexity  and  grief 
of  her  life  went  to  Mr.  Brooks.  There  must  be  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  such  cases.  Our  Catholic  dress- 
maker used  to  go  to  hear  him  preach,  and  three  of  our 
servants  have  said  to  me,  "We  Catholics  all  loved  Mr. 
Brooks,"  just  as  the  young  Catholic  priest  told  Anson 
Stokes  that  they  considered  him  one  of  themselves. 

I  was  much  struck,  after  what  you  told  us  of  the 
Philadelphia  sermons,  at  coming  across  (on  pages  17  and 
18  of  the  Lectures  on  Preaching)  what  I  suppose  would 
be  his  own  criticism  of  that  earlier  manner. 


272  1899 

His  growing  love  of  clearness  of  expression  and  sim- 
plicity of  thought  accounted  for  his  preference  for 
Tennyson  over  Browning  —  much  as  he  loved  the  latter. 
And  how  like,  by  the  way,  his  "I  shall  be  musical  in 
heaven  "  is  to  Browning's  "  Other  heights  in  other  lives, 
God  willing." 

I  wonder  if  his  family  have  dwelt  enough  to  you  on 
his  love  of  the  past  with  all  its  associations,  tho'  no  one 
could  read  his  sermons  without  feeling  it  —  the  Stone 
of  Shechem  especially.  He  told  my  sister  that  he  had 
found  put  carefully  away  the  flowers  he  had  got  from 
the  tree  on  his  Class-Day  and  I  remember  his  saying 
here  once  that  he  wished  a  man's  house  could  be  burned 
when  he  died.  It  was  so  painful  to  see  strangers  in  the 
familiar  rooms. 

Of  course  you  knew  that  he  slept  on  his  mother's  bed 
—  the  bed  on  which  he  was  born.  After  her  death  he 
told  Mamma  how  much  he  longed  to  have  her  speak  to 
him  once  again  "as  a  mother." 

Since  you  were  here  I  have  thought  of  two  remarks 
of  his  which  I  thought  might  interest  you  —  one  to  my 
sister  about  some  Church  Congress,  "People  will  dis- 
cover how  imbecile  we  are  and  abolish  us.  They  —  the 
speakers  —  tow  all  great  subjects  out  to  sea  and  then 
escape  in  small  boats  thro'  the  fog;"  and  then  when 
he  was  here  at  five  o'clock  tea  one  afternoon  —  and  tho' 
he  didn't  like  tea  he  drank  it  as  "a  symbol  of  friend- 
ship"—  he  got  laughing  over  the  fact  that  when  the 
news  of  the  great  fire  in  Chicago  was  brought  to  the 
Church  Congress  ' '  they  read  the  Litany,  which  contains 
every  supplication  excepfthat  for  a  city  in  flames." 

I  have  always  heard  that  he  replied  to  a  man  who 
said,  "I  can't  believe  the  whale  could  have  swallowed 


Aet.  30  273 

Jonah,"  "  He  was  only  a  Minor  Prophet,"  but  it  may 
be  apocryphal. 

That  under  what  you  call  the  "natural  gladness" 
there  was  a  deep  strain  of  sadness  I  can  well  believe. 
As  he  says  himself  in  one  of  his  favorite  jewel-similes 
"the  sun  touches  a  diamond  and  the  diamond  almost 
chills  itself  as  it  sends  out  in  radiance  on  every  side 
the  light  that  has  fallen  on  it,"  but  I  am  sure  that  the 
dominant  note  of  the  life  was  joy.  Like  his  favorite 
Pippa  he  went  thro'  all  the  scenes  of  sin  and  sorrow 
with  the  ' '  God's  in  His  Heaven,  All's  right  with  the 
world." 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

His  pleasure  during  his  last  illness  in  the  red  rose 
sent  him  by  Mrs.  Whitman  —  his  having  its  place 
changed  and  watching  it  in  the  new  light. 

His  love  of  jewels. 

On  some  one's  speaking  of  those  who  died  with  all 
their  music  in  them:  "But  what  poor  creatures  we 
should  be  if  we  died  with  all  our  music  out  of  us." 

To  the  paralytic  young  man  who  used  to  come  to 
Trinity  in  a  wheeled  chair:  "I  preach  sermons  —  you 
live  them." 

Dr.  Whittemore's  saying  that  now  he  could  face  death. 
(I  have  written  to  find  this  out  more  exactly.) 


274  1899 

The  man  dying  of  consumption  out  of  town  who  said 
to  his  wife  that  the  one  person  he  would  like  to  see  was 
Mr.  Brooks,  only  they  had  no  claim  upon  him,  and  her 
going  to  him,  and  his  coming  to  her  husband  once  a 
week  till  his  death. 


A  woman  told  our  dentist  that  she  could  not  be  sure 
of  her  next  appointment  as  she  had  a  dying  friend 
whose  death  would  be  hastened  by  Mr.  Brooks's.  He 
had  been  so  much  to  her.  When  she  next  came  her 
friend  had  died  "holding  his  photograph." 

A  Mrs. of  Brimmer  Street,  when  her  child  was 

taken  ill  of  diphtheria,  sent  for  Mr.  Brooks  merely  be- 
cause she  had  known  his  mother;  and  he  did  everything 
for  them. 

His  saying,  "I  shall  be  musical  in  heaven;"  and  after 
getting  some  one  to  play  him  something  in  the  major 
and  in  the  minor  key,  "I  see!  The  minor  sounds  sort 
of  'sat  on.'" 


Mr.  Hooper's  aunt,  who  lived  next  them  when 
they  were  boys,  overheard  his  mother  expostulating, 
"Phillips,  I  can't  have  so  much  noise  on  Sunday." 


On  one  of  the  Paine's  saying  that  the  face  of  some 
St.  John  was  too  sad:  "No,"  he  replied,  "how  could 
the  apostle  of  Love  be  anything  but  sad-hearted  in  this 
world?" 


Aet.  30  275 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

BOSTON,  March  4th  and  5th. 
Dear  Bessie, 

The  doctor  has  put  me  on  short  rations  of  friends 
for  some  time  to  come  and  this  week  has  cut  me 
off  entirely,  but  that  mustn't  prevent  my  beginning 
my  little  monthly  chat  with  you  across  the  lands  and 
seas. 


Here  life  wags  gently  on  like  Hamlet's  tail.  Mrs. 
Bell,  when  I  saw  her  last,  was  so  thrilled  over  the 
Browning  love-letters  that  she  wouldn't  go  to  the  open- 
ing night  of  the  Sargent  pictures.  She  says,  to  her 
surprise,  her  letters  are  charming,  but  his!  "She 
must  have  married  to  avoid  the  postman.  It  was  like 
getting  every  morning,  '  Sordello,  with  my  love.' ' 

By  the  way,  New  Yorkers  are  in  a  great  rage  because 
Sargent  says  Boston  is  the  only  city  in  the  United 
States  where  he  would  consent  to  exhibit!! 

Mrs.  Whitman,  a  month  ago,  came  near  having  a 
very  serious  accident.  A  tall  chest  of  drawers  in  her 
studio  tottered  and  fell.  She  jumped  from  under  it,  but 
it  struck  one  foot,  which  was  seriously  bruised.  She  is 
beginning  to  hop  about  again,  with  a  stool  to  rest  it  on 
when  she  stops  hopping,  and  it  will  be  a  long  time  be- 
fore it  is  quite  well.  Think  of  our  Infanta  of  Spain  tied 
by  the  leg!!  She  who  always  got  about  on  wings. 

The  early  part  of  this  week  every  one  hung  breath- 
lessly on  the  bulletins  from  Eudyard  Kipling's  sickroom, 
and  there  was  a  great  sigh  of  relief  when  the  papers 
posted  up,  "Kipling  and  the  Pope  better"!!  As  Joe 


276  1899 

Lee  says,  we  none  of  us  realized  till  then  how  much  we 

cared  for  him. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

March  7th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  am  sending  you  a  passage  from  one  of  Martineau's 
letters,  written  shortly  after  his  wife's  death,  in  case 
you  have  not  seen  it. 

I  have  you  especially  in  my  heart  today  and  know  that 
your  thoughts  are  at  home  and  very  full  of  the  sacred 
past. 

Saturday  is  the  anniversary  of  Mrs.  Paine's  death  and 
it  was  very  sweet  to  have  both  Ethel  and  Lily  here  this 
morning  at  the  Holy  Communion. 

When  we  praise  God  on  this  side  it  is  easy  to  feel 
that  it  is  with  "  all  the  company  of  Heaven,"  but  the 
world  shadows  and  the  self  shadows  close  over  us  again, 
don't  they? 

Lovingly  yours, 

ALICE, 

A  blessing  so  prolonged  I  cannot  be  so  faithless  as  to 
turn  from  gratitude  into  complaint. 

If  I  step  into  a  darkened  path  I  carry  with  me  a 
blessed  light  of  memory  which  gives  at  least  a  gloam- 
ing, though  the  sun  is  set,  and  promises  a  dawn  when 
the  night  is  gone. 

The  short  vigil  will  soon  be  over  —  and  while  it  lasts 
neither  the  departed  nor  the  lingerer  can  quit  the  keep- 
ing of  the  everlasting  love.  —  JAMES  MARTINEAU. 


Aet.  30  277 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

March  15th. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Your  account  of  young  Mr.  Noble  reminded  me  of  a 
passage  in  one  of  Mr.  Brooks's  sermons,  "  Once  or  twice 
in  our  lives  we  have  stood  by  the  grave-sides  of  young 
men  which  were  too  solemn  for  regret.  We  complain 
that  life  is  short.  It  is  not  time  you  want,  but  fire.  The 
cloud  lies  on  the  mountain-top  all  day  and  leaves  it  at 
last  just  as  it  found  it  in  the  morning,  only  wet  and 
cold.  The  lightning  touches  the  mountain  for  an  in- 
stant and  the  very  rocks  are  melted  and  the  whole 
shape  of  the  great  mass  is  changed.  Who  would  not 
cry  out  to  God:  Oh,  make  my  life  how  short  I  care  not 
so  that  it  can  have  the  fire  in  it  for  an  hour!  If  only  it 
can  have  intensity!  Let  it  but  touch  the  tumult  of  this 
world  for  an  instant.  Then  let  it  go  and  leave  its  power 
behind." 

I  wonder  if  you  know  that  unauthorized  volume  of 
sermons  called  "  The  Spiritual  Man,"  and  published  in 
England  after  Mr.  Brooks's  death?  Some  of  them  are 
the  most  meagre  of  notes  only,  but  others  have  beauti- 
ful passages  and  thoughts. 

Ethel  and  Paulina  hope  to  call  on  you  Saturday,  soon 
after  three  o'clock,  unless  they  hear  that  that  is  not  a 
good  afternoon,  and  I  will  send*  by  them  the  ' '  Attic 
Philosopher  "  and  Mr.  Brooks's  little  dialogue,  both  of 
which  I  read  last  week.  The  latter  is  very  slight,  of 
course,  but  very  characteristic,  too,  isn't  it?  with  his 
favorite  quotations  from  Tennyson  and  thoughts  which 
grew  and  expanded  into  sermons  later. 


278  1899 

I  am  constantly  re-reading  Robertson's  sermons,  but 
magnificent  as  they  are,  I  always  turn  from  their  stern 
sadness  to  Mr.  Brooks's  written  words  as  one  would  go 
from  a  gray  fortress  out  into  the  bright  sunlight.  Per- 
haps it  is  because  I  see  and  hear  him  behind  the  printed 
page,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  words  shine  with  his 
personality: 

Who  never  turned  his  back,  but  marched  breast  forward, 
Never  doubted  clouds  would  break  ; 
Never  dreamt,  tho'  right  were  worsted, 

Wrong  would  triumph ; 

Held  —  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 
Sleep  to  wake. 

I  have  far  exceeded  the  space  I  had  allowed  myself 
and,  I  am  afraid,  your  patience,  but  I  must  not  close 
without  telling  you  how  very  proud  and  happy  it  would 
make  me  to  help  you  in  any  way  in  the  Biography  —  in 
any  way  in  which  I  could  be  of  most  use. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  STREET, 

March  23-28th,  1899. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Here  is  a  note  from  the  Rev. telling  that  bit  of 

conversation  I  half  remembered  the  other  day,  but  it 
sounds  to  me  stiff  and  uncharacteristic,  as  if  it  had  fil- 
tered through  another  mind.  The  passage  in  the  ser- 
mon where  Mr.  Brooks  speaks  of  the  bitterness  of 
feeling  of  the  city  poor  is  in  the  Second  Series,  "  Chris- 
tian Charity,"  pages  348-354. 


Aet.  30  279 

Mamma  thinks  the  anecdote  about  the  steerage  was 
told  us  by  an  acquaintance  of  hers  who  crossed  with  him 
on  the  steamer,  and  I  know  we  heard  it  quite  directly 
at  the  time.  It  was  that  last  summer,  during  the 
cholera  scare,  and  the  steerage  passengers  were  kept 
aboard  while  a  tug  came  up  to  carry  off  the  cabin  pas- 
sengers. Just  as  they  set  off  the  steerage  gathered 
together  to  watch  them.  Mr.  Brooks  went  to  the  side 
of  the  boat  and  lifted  his  hat  to  them,  and  bade  them 
good-bye. 

He  spoke  to  Paulina  once  about  the  painful  contrast 
one  feels  between  the  well-to-do  and  the  steerage  on 
board  ship. 

Did  you  ever  hear  about  some  one's  going  into  some 
poor  woman's  house  once  and  finding  him  in  sole  charge 
of  a  sleeping  baby,  whose  mother  he  had  persuaded  to 
go  out  for  a  little  walk?  I  have  always  heard  it. 

Miss  Harmon  —  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  Trinity 
Church  charities  for  a  long  time,  and  to  whom  there 
is  a  memorial  window  in  the  Trinity  Sunday  School  — 
told  Mamma  that  she  used  to  give  Mr.  Brooks  a  list  of 
the  poor  women  in  sorrow  and  distress  that  he  might 
visit  and  pray  with  them,  and  that  many  of  them  used 
to  say  to  her  afterwards,  —  especially  those  whose  little 
children  had  died,  —  "  How  can  he  know  so  well  just 
how  I  feel?" 

It  must  have  been  this  intense  power  of  fellow-feeling 
—  this  sensitive  openness  to  the  wants  and  pains  of  men 
on  the  one  side,  as  well  as  to  the  great  eternal  truths  on 
the  other,  that  made  him  stand  to  rich  and  poor  alike 
as  "one  that  comforteth  the  mourners,"  —  or  was  it 
through  that  ever-deepening  communion  with  a  Master 
who  was  a  Man  of  Sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief? 


280  1899 

There  is  so  much  that  is  too  sacred  to  be  spoken  of. 
He  himself  speaks  of  the  relationship  between  a  min- 
ister and  his  congregation  as  "one  of  the  very  highest 
pictures  of  human  companionship  that  can  be  seen  on 
earth,  and  when  it  is  worthily  realized  who  can  say 
that  it  may  not  stretch  beyond  the  line  of  death  and 
they  who  have  been  minister  and  people  to  each  other 
here  be  something  holy  and  peculiar  to  each  other  in 
the  City  of  God  forever?  " 

There  is  a  passage  in  his  sermon  on  ' '  The  Purpose 
and  Use  of  Comfort"  that  seems  to  me  to  describe  the 
secret  of  his  power —  "  Oh,  when  I  see  how  few  men 
are  aided  by  the  arguments  with  which  their  friends 
plead  for  their  faith,  compared  with  those  to  whom 
religion  becomes  a  clear  reality  from  the  sight  of  some 
fellow-man  who  is  evidently  living  with  God,  who  car- 
ries the  life  of  God  wherever  he  goes  —  when  I  see  how 
the  real  difficulty  of  multitudes  of  bewildered  men  is 
not  this  or  that  unsolved  problem,  but  the  whole 
incapacity  of  comprehending  God  —  when  I  see  this,  I 
understand  how  the  best  boon  that  God  can  give  to 
any  group  of  men  must  often  be  to  take  one  of  them 
and,  bearing  witness  of  Himself  to  him,  set  him  to  bear- 
ing that  witness  of  the  Lord  to  his  brethren  which  only 
a  man  surrounded  and  filled  with  God  can  bear." 

And  those  felt  it  most  who  were  most  conscious  of  the 
need  of  something  beyond  and  above  their  lives  —  the 
poor  and  the  lonely  and  the  sad  especially. 

His  niece,  Gertrude,  told  me  there  were  constant  pil- 
grimages to  his  grave  and  little  offerings  of  flowers  left 
there  by  the  poor. 

We  told  you  how,  on  the  day  of  his  death,  an  old 
farmer  pulled  up  his  horse  on  the  Milldam  and  said 


Aet.  30  281 

to  Mrs.  Higginson,    "Have   you   heard   that   Phillips 
Brooks  is  dead?  " 

And  Dr.  Donald  told  me  that  a  few  years  ago  a  hard- 
worked-looking  woman  called  at  the  Clarendon  Street 
house,  so  poorly  dressed  that  he  thought  she  had  come 
to  beg,  and  gave  him  sixty  dollars  (I  think  that  was  the 
sum)  for  the  Memorial  in  the  Church. 

Little  children  turned  to  him  like  flowers  to  sunshine, 
and  I  think  his  expression  when  he  looked  down  at 
them,  or  held  a  baby  in  his  arms,  was  the  most  tender 
thing  I  ever  saw. 

And  manhood  fused  with  female  grace    •* 
In  such  a  sort,  a  child  would  twine 
A  trustful  hand,  unask'd,  in  thine, 
And  find  his  comfort  in  thy  face. 

But  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  full  of  him  —  and  how  fond 
he  was  of  it. 

He  used  to  talk  to  us  a  great  deal  about  Tennyson 
and  about  "our  set "  as  we  called  them  —  Maurice  and 
Stanley  and  Kingsley.  I  remember  his  saying  Cole- 
ridge was  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  puzzling  of 
men,  but  Newman,  "after  all,  his  was  only  a  second- 
class  mind."  By  the  way,  do  you  remember  Lowell's 
saying  that  Newman  made  the  great  mistake  of  think- 
ing God  was  the  Great  I  Was  rather  than  the  Great  I 
Am? 

He  laughed  over  the  photograph  in  which  little 
Maurice,  in  an  ill-fitting  coat,  hangs  on  to  big  Tom 
Hughes's  arm. 

"  No  matter  how  spiritual  a  man  is  if  his  coat  sleeves 
are  too  long." 


282  1899 

On  hearing  that  Esther  Maurice  was  accused  of  de- 
stroying some  of  the  Hare  family  letters:  "  If  even  more 
had  been  lost  to  the  world  I  think  I  could  have  forgiven 
her." 

"But  why  do  Mediums  always  live  at  the  South 
End?" 

Young  man:  "  I  am  in  Boston  getting  subscribers  to 
'The  Churchman.'" 
Mr.  Brooks:  "  With  no  success,  I  hope." 

Mamma  told  him  that  her  grandfather  said  that 
Bishop  Bass,  who  was  an  ancestor  of  theirs,  looked  in 
his  picture  like  a  judge  who  had  just  given  a  wrong 
decision.  "He  is  the  first  person,"  said  Mr.  Brooks, 
"  that  found  any  expression  whatever  in  Bishop  Bass's 
face." 

"What  high-churchmen  lack  is  a  sense  of  humor;  " 
and  he  was  fond  of  speaking  of  the  Advent  as  "that 
new  meeting  house  of  theirs." 

He  said  he  walked  across  Green  Park  behind  three 
English  bishops  and  was  inwardly  chuckling  over  their 
costumes  when  they  came  to  a  fence.  They  put  their 
hands  on  the  top  and  jumped  over,  while  he  meekly 
went  round,  not  despising  the  aprons  so  much. 

We  asked  him  if  he  would  wear  a  curly -brimmed  hat 
with  rosettes,  and  sign  his  letters  Phillips  Massachusetts. 
He  promised  that  the  first  so  signed  should  be  to  me. 

I  remember  some  one  saying  how  characteristic  his 
card  was  —  just  Phillips  Brooks  —  and  how  eagerly  he 


Aet.  30  283 

burst  out  once,  when  we  talked  of  a  person  with 
rather  affected  manners:  "If  only  people  would  be 
simple." 

Very  reserved  people  I  don't  think  he  got  on  well  with 
—  he  was  too  reserved  himself,  at  once,  and  too  sensi- 
tive to  atmosphere.  "If  they've  only  once  expressed 
themselves,"  he  said. 

When  we  told  him  Commodore  Beaumont,  who  mar- 
ried his  friend,  Mary  Perkins,  ate  his  meals  alone  aboard 
ship  with  two  sentries  at  the  door,  he  exclaimed,  "  How 
dreadful!  I'd  have  in  the  cook  to  eat  with  me."  He 
loved  people  as  people,  didn't  he,  and  always  wanted 
to  "hear  about  folks."  In  one  of  his  sermons  he 
speaks  of  what  I  know  he  felt  about  the  city  streets: 
"  To  us  those  streets  are  sympathetic.  To  prosperous 
men,  full  of  activity,  full  of  life,  the  city  streets,  over- 
running with  human  vitality,  are  full  of  a  sympathy, 
a  sense  of  human  fellowship,  a  comforting  companion- 
ship, in  all  that  mass  of  unknown  and,  as  it  were, 
generic,  men  and  women,  which  no  utterance  of  special 
friendship  or  pity  from  the  best-known  lips  can  bring. 
The  live  and  active  man  takes  his  trouble  into  the 
crowded  streets  and  finds  it  comforted  by  the  myste- 
rious consolation  of  his  race.  He  takes  his  perplexity 
out  there,  and  its  darkness  grows  bright  in  the  diffused, 
unconscious  light  of  human  life." 

There  is  a  passage  in  his  "  How  to  Abound  "  about 
the  dangers  of  the  life  full  of  friendship  and  admiration, 
which  must  have  come  out  of  the  heart  of  his  own  expe- 
rience, as  well  as  this  bit  from  "The  Sea  of  Glass:" 
' '  You  may  go  thro'  the  crowded  streets  of  Heaven, 
asking  each  saint  how  he  came  there,  and  you  will  look 
in  vain  everywhere  for  a  man  morally  and  spiritually 


284  1899 

strong,  whose  strength  did  not  come  to  him  in  struggle. 
Will  you  take  the  man  who  never  had  a  disappointment, 
who  never  knew  a  want,  whose  friends  all  love  him, 
whose  health  never  knew  a  suspicion  of  its  perfect- 
ness,  on  whom  every  sun  shines  and  against  whose 
sails  all  winds,  as  if  by  special  commission,  are  sent  to 
blow,  and  who  still  is  great  and  good  and  true  and 
unselfish  and  holy,  as  happy  in  his  inner  as  in  his 
outer  life?  Was  there  no  struggle  there?  Do  you 
suppose  that  man  has  never  wrestled  with  his  own  suc- 
cess and  happiness  —  that  he  has  never  prayed,  and 
emphasized  his  prayer  with  labor,  '  In  all  time  of  my 
prosperity,  Good  Lord,  deliver  me! '  '  Deliver  me! ' 
that  is  the  cry  of  a  man  in  danger  —  of  a  man  with  an 
antagonist.  For  years  that  man  and  his  prosperity 
have  been  looking  each  other  in  the  face  and  grappling 
one  another  —  and  that  is  a  supremacy  that  was  not 
won  without  a  struggle  —  than  which  there  is  no  harder 
on  the  earth." 

' '  He  who  is  silent  before  the  interviewer  pours  out 
the  very  depth  of  his  soul  to  the  great  multitude,"  and, 
as  he  himself  says  of  Robertson's  sermons,  "  It  is  inter- 
esting to  watch,  as  you  often  may  without  any  sus- 
picion of  mere  fancifulness,  how  the  experience  shed 
its  power  into  the  sermon,  but  left  its  form  of  facts 
outside;  how  his  sermons  were  like  the  Heaven  of  his 
life,  in  which  the  spirit  of  his  life  lived  after  it  had  cast 
away  its  body." 

Some  one  accused  him  once  of  always  addressing  men 
in  his  sermons,  and  adding  women  and  mothers  and 
girls  as  an  afterthought,  and  I  remember  our  laughing 
at  him  once  because,  after  admiring  the  beauty  of  a 
fancy  ball,  he  added  that  "ordinary  parties  were  all 


Aet.  30  285 

black."  It  was  evident  what  part  of  the  party  he  was 
thinking  of. 

Once  here,  at  tea,  where  he  was  the  only  man,  he 
spoke  of  the  strange  willingness  Englishmen  showed  to 
change  their  names,  forgetting,  as  Mamma  told  him, 
that  all  the  ladies  present  either  had,  or  intended  to, 
change  theirs. 

He  was  much  amused  that  the  first  big  volume  of 
Stanley's  life  only  carried  one  thro'  his  schooldays  — 
and  said  a  biography  ought  to  begin  in  the  middle  — just 
as  you  met  a  man  —  and  go  back  to  his  childhood  and 
on  to  his  death. 

Did  you  ever  hear  how  his  carriage  failed  to  come 
one  day  till  it  was  too  late  to  get  him  to  a  meeting  and 
that  he  expressed  himself  with  considerable  impatience 
—  and  that  the  next  morning  he  went  over  to  the  liv- 
ery-stable office  at  the  Brunswick  and  apologized  for 
his  hastiness? 

His  impatience  was  sometimes  quite  evident  in  the 
way  he  touched  the  bell  in  the  Sunday  School  if  there 
wasn't  silence  at  the  first  ring. 

He  was  sometimes  bitterly  deceived  in  people  —  you 
must  know  instances  —  but  it  was  not  from  lack  of  dis- 
cernment —  he  was  very  discerning,  I  think  —  but  be- 
cause, like  that  old  Friend  of  God,  "  thro'  grace  he  re- 
garded them,  not  as  they  now  were,  but  as  they  might 
well  become."  When  he  had  finally  made  up  his  mind 
he  was  capable  of  much  righteous  indignation.  Besides, 
every  one  showed  him  their  "Star-side." 

One  other  little  incident  I  must  tell  you.  Gertrude 
was  always  afraid  of  lightning  and  he  used  to  hold  her 
in  his  arms  through  thunderstorms. 

I  have  set  down  many  things  too  slight  to  record,  but 


286  1899 

I   thought  any  little   touches  that  might   recall   him 
vividly  to  you  would  help  you  in  your  work. 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

This  needs  no  answer,  please. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  BROOKS. 

Friday,  April  14. 
Dear  Mrs.  Brooks, 

I  was  so  sorry  to  hear  from  Gertrude  how  poorly  you 
were  and  how  your  trip  to  Andover  was  more  than  you 
felt  able  to  attempt. 

Why  don't  you  just  lie  quite  still  and  give  up  plan- 
ning for  the  future  till  your  strength  comes  back?  or 
will  your  doctor  and  nurse  shake  their  heads  at  me 
for  this  unscientific  advice?  I  know  when  Mamma 
had  nervous  prostration  she  was  told  by  her  physi- 
cians that  it  was  the  one  disease  in  which  effort  was 
not  good. 

I  wish  I  could  get  to  see  you.  I  know  so  well  how 
you  feel  —  only  what  comes  to  me  only  by  days,  or 
even  hours,  you  are  called  to  endure  for  weeks.  But 
when  we  are  weakest  and  most  broken  we  can  rest 
more  entirely  on  the  Divine  strength.  Strength  will 
come  —  hope  will  come  —  the  great  tide  is  sweeping  up 
to  float  you  off  the  sand,  which  seems  so  blank  and 
barren  about  you. 

I  sometimes  think  we  feel  like  violins,  whose  little 
bridges  have  been  broken  down,  and  whose  strings  lie 
all  unstrung,  but  we  can  believe  in  the  Great  Musician, 
who  will  set  all  to  rights  in  His  good  time,  and  draw 
sweet  music  from  us  yet.  In  the  meanwhile  we  have 


Aet.  30  287 

only  to  wait  and  trust.     Do  you  remember  that  verse  in 
"The  Christian  Year  "  — 

0  Lord,  my  God,  do  Thou  Thy  holy  will, 

1  will  lie  still ; 

I  will  not  stir,  lest  I  forsake  Thine  arm 
And  break  the  charm 

Which  lulls  me  clinging  to  my  Father's  breast 
In  perfect  rest. 

Lovingly  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 

June  3rd. 
Well,  dear  touring  Star, 

I  suppose,  by  this  time,  you  are  shining  down  on  the 
green  hills  and  meadows  of  Stockbridge? 

And  is  it  as  beautiful  as  Manchester,  with  the  sea  in  the 
distance  and  our  thickets  musical  with  wood- thrushes? 
All  my  social  dram-drinking  is  a  thing  of  the  past  —  so 
are  people  and  news.  The  woods  are  full  of  "ham- 
merdryads,"  in  the  shape  of  carpenters,  putting  the 
last  touches  to  Miss  Thayer's  clothesyard  and  finishing 
Sans-Gene's  little  attic  room  and  new  window  —  did  we 
tell  you  about  it?  —  with  a  wire  screen,  to  cut  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  attic,  so  that  she  paces  up  and  down  in- 
side more  like  a  Royal  Bengal  tiger  than  ever.  But  a 
tiger  with  a  halo  —  for  she  is  an  angel  this  year  and 
enjoys  her  out-of-door  life  with  a  tender  regard  for  our 
feelings.  Then,  you  see,  we  have  her  basement  room 
to  use  in  the  really  hot  weather  for  three  or  four  poor 
guests  for  a  week  each. 


288  1899 

Will  it  work,  do  you  think  —  or  will  one  trifling  brick 
of  practicalness  tumble  and  send  the  whole  ideal  struc- 
ture into  nothing? 

We  all  live  in  a  rut  and  no  one  but  geniuses  ever  get 
out,  do  they?  In  fact,  the  getting  out  constitutes  the 
genius. 

I  am  so  glad  you  have  got  your  Susie  safely  back,  and 
now  get  strong  for  Wednesday,  the  fourteenth,  when 
you  must  come  on  the  10.45  train,  remember,  and  stay 
till  Friday  afternoon.  I  am  better  and  beginning  to 
get  downstairs  at  five  and  try  a  few  steps  up.  As  for 
my  nights,  I  have  slept  more  since  we  got  here  than  in 
the  last  three  months  in  town  put  together. 

Lovingly  your 

COUNTRY-MOUSE. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

June  20th,  Tuesday. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

By  what  express  did  you  send  ' '  Hort's  Life  "  ?  for  it  has 
not  yet  reached  me.  I  delayed  on  that  account  writing 
to  thank  you  for  the  dates  of  the  sermons,  which  must 
have  taken  you  a  long  time  to  copy  for  me  and  which  I 
am  delighted  to  have.  I  notice  in  putting  them  into 
our  first  volume  of  sermons,  which  is,  I  think,  the  most 
beautiful  of  all,  that  those  were  written  between  '68 
and  '78  —  the  "All  Saints'  Day  Sermon  "the  earliest 
and  the  "  Shortness  of  Life  "  the  latest.  That,  of  course, 
covers  his  first  nine  years  in  Boston,  and  was  there  ever 
a  time  when  he  preached  better  written  sermons?  Of 


Aet.  30  289 

course  I  have  to  judge  only  by  what  is  printed,  as  I  was 
born  about  the  time  he  came  to  us  and  was  still  young- 
ish in  '78. 

Thank  you  again  for  your  kindness  and  for  sending 
me  Hort,  which,  I  daresay,  is  just  falling  under  the 
spell  of  this  sleepy  place. 

I  hope  this  hot  weather  hasn't  made  you  even  more  con- 
scious of  the  heaviness  of  the  work  before  you  than  ever. 

We  were  fortunate  in  escaping  with  only  two  hot 
days  a  fortnight  ago,  but  they  couldn't  have  been  much 
hotter  anywhere.  The  sea,  on  such  days,  lies  like  a 
burnished  mirror  to  reflect  the  heat,  and  "  Rackrent" 
is  but  a  small  wooden  castle  hidden  in  trees  and  so  named 
because  I  play  the  part  of  Irish  Landlord. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

I  left  this  note  open  in  case  Hort  should  arrive  during 
the  day  and  here  he  is  at  last  and  none  the  worse  for 
his  travels.  The  express  must  have  been  celebrating 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

MANCHESTER,  July  25. 
Dear  Elinor, 

Here  we  are  writing  our  tenth  letter  to  you,  in  for- 
eign parts,  in  return  for  three.  Our  name  is  virtue. 
You  will  say  your  days  are  too  full,  but  we  might  retort 
that  ours  are  too  empty.  It  is  dizzy  work  this  being  an 
epistolary  spider  and  swinging  out  into  space  on  a  deli- 
cate thread  of  anecdote  made  out  of  your  own  insides  — 
perhaps  internal  consciousness  or  subjectivity  are  pret- 


290  ,  1899 

tier  words  than  Mrs.  Nickerson's  favorite  in'ards,  but  let 
it  pass. 

We  also  had  Joe  and  Maggie  to  supper  with  Ethel, 
and  having  always  given  her  the  impression  that  we 
lived  the  life  of  a  hermit  thrush  ' '  so  beautiful,  so  mel- 
ancholy," we  then  proceeded  to  crush  into  seven  days 
—  how  many  more  things  do  you  think?  A  supper  at 
the  Hoopers,  a  supper  at  the  Higginsons,  a  musical  at 
your  house,  a  reception,  an  afternoon  tea,  three  lunch- 
eons, and  a  picnic  at  Coffin's  beach.  And  what  a  nice 
time  we  had  at  the  last;  lots  of  Cabots  and  prisoner's 
base  and  a  sunset  and  a  moon,  and  to  keep  before  us 
the  fact  that  "  the  greatest  of  these  is  Associated  Char- 
ity" Marian  Jackson  and  Zilpha  Smith  arm  in  arm; 
Ellen  Emerson  also  was  present,  neatly  but  not  gaudily 
attired  and  up  to  date  in  current  topics.  She  wanted 
to  know  if  Roosevelt  was  yet  governor. 

We  feel  more  hopeful  about  the  return  of  our  little 
doves  to  the  Ark  now  that  Bessie's  ship  is  in. 

Old  Noah  and  his  pets  will  be  glad  enough  to  get  them 

back. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  AND  PAULINA. 
To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

July  26th,  1899. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

I  sent  the  sermons  back  to  you  yesterday  and  trust 
they  have  reached  your  hands  safely. 

I  have  been  reading  them  carefully,  bit  by  bit,  with 


Act.  30  291 

the  printed  sermons,  and  was  interested  to  find  how 
closely  he  kept  to  his  plan  as  a  whole  —  the  order  of  the 
passages  and  number  of  pages  allotted  to  each  —  and  yet 
how  the  dry  bones  live!  The  earlier  synopses  seemed  to 
me  less  finished  than  the  ones  written  only  later  by  a 
few  years.  For  instance,  the  "  Curse  of  Meroz"  in  '77 
has  an  occasional  little  outburst,  apparently  for  himself 
alone,  ' '  It  makes  one  mad  "  —  "  the  muddy  humility 
of  Uriah  Heep."  Indeed,  I  noticed  a  number  of  per- 
sonal applications  which  do  not  appear  in  the  sermons 
themselves.  In  the  ' '  Greatness  of  Faith, "  opposite  the 
words  "blatant  infidel,"  is  written,  "Ingersoll."  I 
have  also  found  passages  marked  for  three  pages  re- 
duced to  half  a  page,  —  example  of  a  man  building  a 
house  changed  to  one  facing  a  great  grief,  —  and  in 
"Christian  Charity"  whole  passages,  and  even  ideas, 
left  entirely  out. 

He  must  have  feared  his  own  facility  and  the  glow- 
ing images  that  came  crowding  on  his  mind,  to  tie  him- 
self down  so  —  almost  as  a  poet  would,  into  sonnet  form. 

I  hope  that  this  beautiful  cool  weather  has  been  of 
help  to  you  in  your  work. 

Paulina  finished  "  Hort's  Life  "  to  me  aloud  yesterday 
and  we  are  going  to  begin  the  "  Christian  Ecclesia  "  to- 
day. We  have  been  very  much  interested,  tho'  I  think 
half  the  letters  —  especially  those  on  the  details  of  travel 
—  might  well  have  been  spared.  What  he  said  on  Mr. 
Brooks  was  interesting,  I  thought,  but  very  inadequate. 

I  have  been  rather  ill  this  last  three  weeks  and  am 
still  getting  only  from  sofa  to  bed  and  back  again  — 
what  I  call  "  the  grand  tour." 

Sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


292  1899 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Judge  William  C.  Talcott  of  Valparaiso,  Ind., 
eighty-nine  years  of  age,  and  Miss  Alice  S.  Boardman, 
aged  seventy-five  years,  of  Richland,  Vt.,  after  three 
months'  courtship,  were  married  yesterday  by  Judge 
Hogan,  aged  seventy-five  years.  The  groom  is  the 
oldest  editor  in  the  State. 

Saturday. 
Darling  Twiney, 

It  is  never  too  late,  you  see,  for  love's  young  dream 
—  so  courage!  I  show  mine  by  still  spreading  the  fes- 
tive board  with  fruit  and,  viands  of  every  sort,  like  St. 
Agnes's  eve,  for  that  American  eagle.  He  has  not  come 
even  in  your  absence! 

Mamma  didn't  tell  you  that  that  cat  has  on  both  her 
hunting  gaiters  and  her  naughty  towgers,  and  Thurs- 
day evening  disappeared  for  two  hours  —  one  of  which 
was  spent  in  shrieks  for  her  by  the  servants  and  in 
agonies  by  her  'lations.  It  may  sound  like  an  anti- 
climax to  add  that  it  was  only  half-past  seven  when 
the  prodigal  returned  and  eat  the  fatted  kidney.  I  said 
to  Uncle  Melly,  "  Perhaps  we  were  a  little  more  ridicu- 
lous than  usual."  He  kindly  assured  me  that  he  hadn't 
thought  so  —  which  was  a  dubious  compliment. 

Aren't  you  having  a  lovely  time!  I'm  so  glad  the 
genial  Mephistopheles  really  turned  up. 

I  find  I  have  a  rival  at  the  barn!  The  mare  has 
gained  fifty-five  pounds  this  summer.  Fat  or  thin, . I 

love  you  fondly. 

Your  own 

NANNY. 


Aet.  30  293 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Monday  Morn. 
Dearest  Mauvaise, 

We  are  getting  along  splendidly  and  your  little  charge 
is  no  trouble  at  all .  Yesterday  at  twelve  she  went  down- 
stairs with  me  to  bask  out  of  doors  and  at  luncheon-time 
strolled  in,  hung  her  auriole  on  the  hat-rack  and  joined 
us  in  the  dining  room. 

And  so  the  serpent  with  ' '  Woman's  Mission "  in 
his  jaws  has  penetrated  even  the  Lake  Champlain 
paradise? 

Fanny  has  been  telling  me  more  of  Charlotte  Perkins 
Stetson's  desire  to  have  women  fend  for  themselves  and 
their  offspring  like  the  beasts  of  the  field.  I  don't  see 
but  what  her  ideal  is  reached  in  the  slums  among  the 
Eichwalds  and  Mulherns.  The  only  trouble  is  that  poor 
"  Man's  sphere  "  will  have  to  dwindle  to  —  say  the  Island 
set  in  a  silver  sea. 

She  is  also  waging  war  with  the  Old  Testament, 
because  it  always  speaks  of  a  just,  an  unrighteous 
or  cruel  man,  while  woman  is  left  scornfully  adjec- 
tiveless.  Do  you  think  of  Deborah  and  Jael  as  "  pure 
womanly"? 

She  will  next  be  getting  up  a  Crusade,  I  suppose, 
against  the  blasphemers  who  describe  little  girls  as 
being  made  "of  sugar  and  spice  and  everything  nice," 
while  they  reserve  to  the  youthful  male  the  more 
human  elements  "of  scissors  and  snails  and  puppy- 
dogs'  tails." 

From  One  who  prefers  her  privileges  to  her  rights  and 
still  clings  to  the  dark  ages  of  chivalry. 


294  1899 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Telegraphic  Upper  Piazza 

&  R.R.  Stations  Sofa  —  County 

Rackrent,  Manchester.  U.S.A. 

Thursday  Morn. 

Sans-Gene  gazed  up  at  the  moon  behind  the  crumpled 
pine  last  evening  and  said  she  was  thinking  of  Aunt  T. 
You  know  she  doesn't  usually  care  much  for  scenery, 
but  it  was  a  mackerel  sky.  What  weather!  You  must 
drink  deep  of  beauty  these  ten  days  before  resuming  the 
sad  and  weary  round  of  sickroom  duties.  We  are  doing 
nobly.  In  fact,  Dr.  Washburn  and  I  have  decided  in 
solemn  conclave  that  now  I  have  really  taken  a  turn  for 
the  better.  The  old  moss-grown  bucket  is  creaking  up 
from  the  depths  where  Truth  abides. 

Who  should  turn  up  yesterday,  stung  on  by  remorse, 
but  Linka,  and  she  was  allowed  to  play  "  Sous-mau- 
vaise  "  till  I  was  ready  to  see  her.  It  was  not  a  long 
visit,  as  she  had  to  catch  the  six  train  back  and  William 
had  flown  off  with  the  span,  forsooth.  News  she  had 
none,  and  we  talked  Dreyfus!  Don't  you  love  Zola's 
"  Truth  is  on  the  March  "?  Emily  is  a  gallant  old  girl. 
And  weren't  you  pleased  to  see  that  they  had  burned 
Mercier  in  effigy  at  Darmstadt? 

A  most  interesting  letter  has  come  from  Ned  Willis- 
ton.  He  thinks  if  the  Filipinos  get  no  more  arms  the 
trouble  will  be  over  in  two  or  three  months.  He  says 
the  situation  is  most  extraordinary.  The  insurgents 
return  quietly  to  the  towns  after  the  battles  and  stay 
till  next  time.  We  keep  no  prisoners  but  officers,  and 
nurse  all  their  wounded  —  these  latter  scarcely  ever 
return  to  the  ranks.  Indeed,  he  thinks  if  we  could  cap- 


Aet.  31  295 

ture  the  leaders  the  war  would  be  over.  But  Uncle 
Melly  won't  let  us  forward  his  letter.  And  Uncle  M. 
reminds  me  of  euchre.  We  three  still  play.  "  There's 
nothing,  you  know,  like  playing  Old  Maid  with  a  Gummy 
and  cheating  the  Gummy." 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

BOSTON,  Sunday  Nov.  27. 

The  winter  is  going  quietly  in  its  old  ruts  —  purely 
social  for  me  and  varied  with  charities  for  Paulina,  who 
has  got  most  of  the  little  boys  of  St.  Andrew's  in  her 
admiring  heart,  to  say  nothing  of  their  families.  Thro' 
her  I  get  interested  in  them  too.  Indeed,  I  tell  her  that 
I  am  getting  to  have  so  spiritual  a  meaning  for  my 
neighbor  that  it  includes  every  one  except  those  who  live 
in  the  immediate  vicinity. 

And  speaking  of  neighbors,  we  are  so  enjoying  hav- 
ing Joe  and  Maggie  Lee  in  Chestnut  Street.  Dear  old 
Mr.  Henry  Lee  died  Thanksgiving  Day,  or  rather,  "  fell 
on  sleep,"  having  had  all  his  family  about  him  for  the 
last  time.  He  was  a  link  with  our  past,  and  tho'  we 
only  saw  him  once  a  summer  we  were  very  proud  of 
that  one  call.  What  a  long  and  useful  and  dignified 
life  and  what  a  beautiful  end! 

Lovingly, 

ALICE  . 


296  1899 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

Tuesday. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  Paulina  and  me, 
but  you  know  how  much  our  hearts  have  been  with  you 
in  your  work. 

Your  note,  we  thought,  sounded  very  tired  and  de- 
pressed, and  I  am  afraid  these  long  weeks  of  writing 
under  pressure  have  begun  to  tell  on  you. 

Do  take  a  little  rest  at  Christmas  time! 

We  never  wrote  you,  did  we,  about  the  clubs  Mr. 
Brooks  belonged  to?  It  was  not  the  Wednesday  but 
the  Thursday  Evening,  and  he  went  so  little  that 
finally,  Mr.  Paine  says,  he  was  put  out  of  that  for  non- 
attendance. 

In  reading  Browning's  ' '  Balaustion's  Adventure  "  — 
the  first  one  —  aloud  the  other  day  Paulina  and  I  were 
very  much  struck  by  the  resemblance  between  Herakles 
and  Mr.  Brooks.  Have  you  ever  noticed  it?  There  is 
something  in  the  impression  it  leaves  on  one  —  the  big- 
ness —  the  sympathy  and  cheer  he  brings  with  him  into 
the  house  of  mourning,  that  recalls  the  other  so  vividly. 
Of  course  you  mustn't  answer  this,  but  with  best  Christ- 
mas wishes,  believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Dec.  26. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

Paulina  and  I  are  charmed  with  our  green  candle- 
stick and  have  labelled  it  "  Castle  Rackrent"  in  our 
minds. 


Aet.  31  297 

I  long  to  see  you  and  to  show  you  all  my  pretty 
things,  but  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  beautiful  day 
was  a  surprise  planned  by  Paulina.  In  the  late  after- 
noon my  door  was  opened  and  nine  little  fellows  from 
the  St.  Andrew's  choir  sung  the  Christmas  Carols  to  me 
in  the  lower  hall  —  Ethel  playing  the  accompaniment. 
Two  of  them  were  Mr.  Brooks's  hymns,  and  the  little 
boys'  voices  —  the  surprise  —  the  day,  with  all  its  asso- 
ciations, quite  upset  me  for  a  moment.  It  is  sweet  to 
look  back  on. 

I  hope  the  joy  of  Christmas  Day  was  with  you  all, 
brightening  the  year  to  come.  If  we  could  only  enter, 
even  so  little,  into  the  meaning  of  yesterday  and  Easter 
Day  it  would  be  like  two  strong  wings,  to  carry  us  over 
all  the  little  troubles  and  anxieties  of  life,  wouldn't  it? 
The  God  of  hope  fill  you  with  all  joy  and  peace. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 


298  1900 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

Some  one  with  wings  where  I  had  weary  feet. 

It  is  impossible  for  two  souls  to  meet  in  sweet  com- 
munion without  religion's  sooner  or  later  crossing  the 
threshold  of  their  discourse.  —  PfeRE  LACORDAIRE. 


A  friendship  which,  at  this  most  solemn  time,  does 
not  seem  so  much  to  have  been  interrupted  as  to  have 
been  consecrated  for  evermore. 

In  old  days  it  was  strength  to  be  with  him  and  for  the 
future  it  will  be  strength  to  remember  him. 

WESTCOTT. 

Some  griefs  build  the  soul  a  spacious  house. 

It  was  said  of  St.  Paul  that  he  had  a  thousand  friends 
and  loved  each  as  if  he  had  a  thousand  souls,  and  died 
a  thousand  deaths  when  he  parted  from  them. 

Epitaph  in  a  German  Churchyard, 

I  will  arise,  O  Christ,  when  Thou  callest  me,  but  oh! 
let  me  rest  awhile,  for  I  am  very  weary. 

The  night  time  of  the  body  is  the  day  time  of  the 
spirit. 

When  we  are  very  tried  we  must  shiver,  but  we  can 
and  do  warm  one  another  when  we  strengthen  in  one 
another  the  conviction  that  we  are  all  in  solidarity  with 
Him.  —  "  Letters  from  a  Mystic." 

Deep  thinking  is  attainable  only  by  a  man  of  deep 
feeling,  and  all  truth  is  a  species  of  revelation. 


Aet.  31  299 

For  the  maintenance  of  Truth  is  God's  charge  and  the 
continuance  of  Charity  ours.  —  WHICHCOTE. 

January  23. 

Trusting  in  Thy  goodness  and  great  mercy,  O  Lord, 
I  draw  near  as  one  sick  to  the  Saviour,  as  one  hungry 
and  thirsty  to  the  Fountain  of  Life,  one  needy  to  the 
King  of  Heaven,  a  servant  to  my  Lord,  a  creature  to 
my  Creator,  one  desolate  to  my  kind  Comforter. 

Irenaeus  says:  "  The  glory  of  God  is  the  living  man; 
the  life  of  man  is  the  vision  of  God." 

Who  lives  in  Heaven  with  the  angels  and  on  earth 
with  my  soul. —  DANTE'S  "  Convito." 

The  Infinite  Goodness  hath  such  ample  arms 
That  it  receives  whatever  turns  to  it. 

No  votarist  of  our  faith, 

Till  he  has  dropped  his  tears  into  the  stream, 

Tastes  of  its  sweetness. 

Crushed  from  our  sorrow  all  that's  greatest  in  man 
has  ever  sprung. 

"The  ascent  is  thro'  self  above  self,"  says  Richard  of 
St.  Victor.  "  Let  him  that  thirsts  to  see  God  clean  his 
mirror;  let  him  make  his  own  spirit  bright." 

I  think  Heaven  will  not  be  as  good  as  earth  unless  it 
bring  with  it  that  sweet  power  to  remember  which  is 
the  staple  of  Heaven  here.  —  EMILY  DICKINSON. 


300  1900 

Receive  every  inward  and  outward  trouble,  every  dis- 
appointment, pain,  uneasiness,  darkness,  temptation, 
and  desolation  with  both  thy  hands,  as  a  true  oppor- 
tunity and  blessed  occasion  of  dying  to  self  and  enter- 
ing into  a  fuller  fellowship  with  thy  self-denying,  suf- 
fering Saviour;  then  every  kind  of  trial  and  distress 
will  become  the  blessed  day  of  thy  prosperity. 

LAW'S  "Serious  Call." 

Is  the  Soul  which  has  never  been  subdued  to  patience, 
braced  to  fortitude,  fired  with  heroic  enthusiasm  as  har- 
monious, as  strong,  as  large,  as  free  as  that  which  has 
been  schooled  in  martyrdom?  —  MARTINEAU. 

We  can  best  conquer  want  by  wanting,  weariness  by 
wearying,  pain  by  suffering,  grief  by  grieving,  death  by 
dying.  —  MAGEE'S  "  The  Victor  manifest  in  the  Flesh." 

I  believe  that  those  whose  hearts  have  been  educated 
in  a  wide-reaching  sympathy  and  passionate  eagerness 
to  exercise  their  inheritance  of  eternal  beneficence  in 
behalf  of  their  toiling,  woe-begotten  brothers  and  sis- 
ters in  their  tribulation  will  enter  at  once,  when  they 
quit  this  world,  into  the  fulness  of  angelic  ministration. 

"Letters  from  a  Mystic." 

All  our  ideas  of  heart  knowledge  appear  to  be  con- 
nected with  suffering.  We  must  each  of  us  go  into 
the  depths  if  we  are  to  save  those  that  are  in  the 
depths.  —  "Letters  from  a  Mystic." 

Religion  doth  possess  the  whole  man  —  in  the  under- 
standing it  is  knowledge;  in  the  life  it  is  obedience;  in 


Aet.  31  301 

the  affections  it  is  delight  in  God.  —  BENJAMIN  WHICH- 
COTE. 

The  riches  of  earth  can  be  left  and  inherited;  the 
wealth  of  the  soul  must  be  won.  —  BENJAMIN  WHICH- 
COTE. 

For  this  cause  art  thou  formed,  both  of  flesh  and 
spirit,  that  thou  mayst  deal  tenderly  with  that  which 
comes  visibly  before  thee.  —  IGNATIUS. 


302  1900 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

January  16th. 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

We  all  so  loved  the  Dr.  Vinton  anecdote  about  get- 
ting ' '  a  man  into  a  corner  and  then  throwing  his  soul 
at  him,"  and  it  is  so  characteristic,  that  we  hope  you  can 
tuck  it  into  the  second  volume. 

After  the  second  meeting  at  Faneuil  Hall,  when  Mr. 
Brooks  was  shaking  hands  with  the  people,  one  man 
carrying  a  baby  on  his  arm  stepped  shyly  up  and  said, 
"I  thought  you'd  tell  me  what  to  do  for  my  wife's 
rheumatism.  She  has  it  so  bad."  Mr.  Brooks  said  he 
didn't  know  himself,  but  he  would  send  some  one  who 
did,  and  took  the  man's  address. 

Afterwards  he  exclaimed,  "Imagine  Mr.  X.  consult- 
ing me  about  his  wife's  rheumatism!  " 

Mr.  Brooks  told  us  that  his  old  sexton  disapproved  of 
the  crowds  that  came  Sunday  evening,  and  at  last  came 
to  him  and  said,  "I  know  how  to  keep  them  away. 
When  a  young  man  and  woman  come  together  I  put 
them  in  separate  pews."  "  And,"  added  Mr.  Brooks, 
"  he  expected  me  to  sympathize  in  this  fiendish  device." 

We  had  a  very  interesting  talk  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Deland  Sunday  and  one  little  thing  she  told  us  I  must 
save  for  your  next  call. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
No  thanks,  please. 


Aet.  31  303 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

March  8th. 
Dearest  Ethel, 

I  can't  let  tomorrow  pass  without  a  word  of  love  to 
you. 

Your  mother's  friendship  means  more  and  more  to 
me  as  the  days  go  by  —  it  seems  as  tho'  those  dearest  to 
us  only  went  out  of  our  sight  into  our  soul  of  souls. 
"  Such  losses, "  Westcott  says,  "give  a  human  reality 
to  the  unseen  world.  Those  on  whom  we  look  no  longer 
are,  in  some  sense,  felt  to  be  more  continuously  near  than 
when  they  moved  among  us  under  the  limitations  of 
earth;  and  their  spiritual  presence  supplies  a  living  and 
intelligible  form  to  the  Communion  of  Saints,  thro'  which 
we  enter  on  the  powers  of  the  eternal  life." 

And  thro'  these  dark  and  bitter  days  it  has  been  a 
comfort  to  rest  on  the  thought  of  her  perfect  love  and 
loyalty. 

Dearest  Linka,  you  must  put  your  arms  tight  round 
poor  Paulina  and  let  her  renew  her  strength  at  your 
sunny  heroism. 

Yours  ever  and  ever, 

NANNY. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

CASTLE  EACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

I  am  always  so  pleased  when  I  happen  to  be  able  to 
track  people's  quotations  for  them. 

The  poem  is  from  Browning's  "  Paracelsus,"  and  tho' 
we  have  not  that  volume  with  us  I  can  give  you  the 


304  1900 

lines  correctly,  as  they  have  always  been  great  favorites 
with  us: 

I  go  to  prove  my  soul ! 

I  see  my  way  as  birds  their  trackless  way ! 

I  shall  arrive  !     What  time,  what  circuit  first, 

I  ask  not ;  but  unless  God  send  His  hail 

Or  blinding  fire-balls,  sleet  or  stifling  snow, 

In  some  time,  His  good  time,  I  shall  arrive. 

He  guides  me  and  the  bird.     In  His  good  time  ! 

The  other  bit  from  Mr.  Brooks's  sermon  on  the  death 
of  a  young  man  is  in  "The  Spiritual  Man"  volume, 
pages  84  and  85,  or  rather  pages  85  and  84,  is  the  order 
in  which  I  remember  giving  you  the  quotation  once. 

What  glorious  weather  we  are  having!  I  lie  on  a 
sofa  on  my  upstairs  piazza,  among  the  tree  tops  and 
drink  in  the  beauty  and  peace. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Sunday,  July  29th. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

HOME, 

November  15th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

I  have  grown  a  week  stronger  since  we  wrote  and  a 
whole  year  older. 

Saturday  was  the  milestone,  and  for  a  birthday  pres- 
ent Mrs.  Bell  made  me  a  long  call  in  the  morning  and 
Mrs.  Whitman  a  short  one  in  the  afternoon. 

I  don't  mean  I  didn't  have  more  material  gifts.  You 
will  be  amused  to  hear  that  Ethel's  little  old  silver  dish 
has  on  it  two  Cupids  putting  two  birds  into  a  cage,  and 


Aet.  32  305 

that  Paulina  has  given  me  my  latest  craze,  a  house  for 
Purple  Martins,  the  Purple  Martins  of  an  impressionist 
imagination. 

So  you  see  I  am  just  as  much  of  a  baby  as  ever,  not- 
withstanding my  years.  I  found  two  lines  in  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  that  seem  to  suit  my  case  exactly: 

'Tis  not  a  life, 
'Tis  but  a  piece  of  childhood  thrown  away. 

Friday  afternoon  for  my  one  person  I  saw  Joe  Smith 
and  his  Corinna  —  such  a  pretty  girl,  and  so  sweet  and 
affectionate.  He  looks  beaming,  and  glances  from  her 
to  you,  eager  for  sympathy. 

Paulina's  days  are  full  of  small  gaieties,  all  the  pleas- 
anter  for  being  small,  and  in  a  few  weeks  I  hope  to  get 
down  to  help  her  with  the  Wednesdays.  Mamma  is 
well  and  sends  love.  It  is  nice  to  hear  of  you  lotus-eat- 
ing, and  natural  to  have  this  little  talk  with  you  on  one 
of  our  Thursdays. 

My  heart  has  been  playing  rather  troublesome  tricks 
of  late,  but  it  is  a  shade  better  this  week  than  last,  and 
I  have  sat  up  once  for  half  an  hour  in  a  blanket  — 
always  a  forlorn  business,  and,  what  is  quite  the  reverse, 
I  have  managed,  even  the  worst  days,  to  see  my  five 
o'clock  friend. 

Dr.  Mason  gets  a  little  doubtful  about  "  those  friends  " 
sometimes,  and  asks  if  the  enjoyment  pays  for  the  effort 
and  fatigue.  He  is  very  kind  and  dear,  and  as  Dr. 
Washburn  makes  me  an  occasional  call,  unprofession- 
ally,  I  have  not  lost  one  in  getting  back  the  other.  It 
isn't  every  one,  is  it,  that  has  two  pet  doctors? 

The  Bells  and  Pratts  go  back  with  Nellie  next  month, 
but  only  for  a  visit.  They  are  looking  for  rooms  at 


306  1900 

York  for  the  summer,  and  little  Helen  is  to  come  out  to 
them  next  winter  to  start  her  young-lady  life  in  the 
Chestnut  Street  house. 

Mrs.  Bell  told  me  of  her  indignation  at  some  friends 
asking  her  if  they  would  not  live  in  Europe  —  "  Live  in 
Europe,"  she  repeated,  with  a  whole  line  of  exclama- 
tion points. 

She  makes  me  an  hour's  call  every  week,  and  is  dearer 
than  ever.  She  seems  to  have  the  fountain  of  eternal 
youth  in  her  heart  —  and  it  bubbles  up  irrepressibly 
from  under  the  weight  of  anxiety  and  years  and  sorrow. 

It  isn't  too  late  to  send,  tho'  it  may  be  too  late  for  you 
to  get,  every  beautiful  wish  for  the  Christmas  time. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

November  18. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

The  lines  are  from  Tennyson's  "  In  Memoriam,"  and 
here  is  a  correct  copy,  with  punctuations. 

I  am  glad  you  see  rest  ahead  tho'  it  is  put  off  for  yet 
another  week. 

Paulina  came  across  this  sentence  of  Gregory's  on 
Origen,  which,  of  course,  is  familiar  to  you,  but  was 
new  to  us  and  made  us  think  of  Mr.  Brooks: 

"Love  for  him  was  like  an  arrow  which  fixed  itself 
deep  in  the  heart  and  could  not  be  drawn  out,  or  like  a 
spark  setting  the  soul  on  fire." 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Sunday. 


Aet.  32  307 

And  manhood  fused  with  female  grace 
In  such  a  sort,  the  child  would  twine 
A  trustful  hand,  unask'd,  in  thine, 
And  find  his  comfort  in  thy  face. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Dec.  19th  and  20th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Isn't  the  week  before  Christmas  a  lovely  time?  The 
"  Peace"  isn't  exactly  here,  but  the  "  Good  will  to  men  " 
seems  to  hang  over  the  days  and  warm  our  hearts. 

Mrs.  Whitman  was  here  last  night,  fresh  from  the 
shops.  She  said  when  she  saw  the  dense  crowd,  from 
Shepard  &  Norwell's  to  Tremont  Street,  and  "  realized 
that  every  one  there  was  buying  for  somebody  else!  " 
We  thought  it  very  characteristic  of  her  dear,  hopeful 
way  of  seeing  things.  And  she  was  full  of  joy  over 
Mr.  Brooks's  Life,  which  she  had  been  glancing  thro' 
before  a  real  reading.  She  thinks  it  is  a  remarkable 
piece  of  work  —  and  couldn't  wait  till  Christmas  before 
sending  it  off  to  Miss  Woolsey.  This  made  us  very 
happy,  as  Professor  Allen  had  filled  us  with  his  own 
doubts  and  discouragements  as  the  work  went  on.  No 
one  could  have  given  it  more  loving  thought  and  study, 
however,  nor  been  better  fitted  for  so  difficult  a  task. 
He  has  given  the  book  to  Paulina  and  me  "  in  glad  and 
grateful  recognition  of  the  many  happy  hours  spent  in 
talking  over  the  life  of  Phillips  Brooks."  And  she  is 
going  to  read  it  aloud  to  me  as  soon  as  there  is  a  little 
lull  in  the  Christmasing. 

And  now,  dear  Owl,  I  suppose  you  will  hoot  in  a  mel- 
ancholy manner  if  I  don't  tell  you  just  how  I  am  — 


308  1900 

instead  of  drawing  cheerful  conclusions  from  my  writ- 
ing with  my  own  pen  —  but  that  for  tomorrow. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

[Dec.] 
My  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Do  you  keep  wishing  carpets  in  Cambridge,  or  genii 
that  do  your  bidding  for  the  rubbing  of  a  ring? 

We  could  not  believe  that  the  Life  came  from  you 
so  soon  after  you  left  us  till  we  opened  at  the  fly-leaf 
and  read  the  beautiful  inscription. 

It  made  us  very  proud  and  happy  to  have  it  given  us 
together  in  this  way  —  and  Ethel  understands  entirely. 

Mr.  Stokes  writes  that  he  is  not  sending  it  to  us,  as 
he  supposes  you  will,  but  that  he  is  giving  it  to  all  his 
other  friends. 

Paulina  and  I  are  beginning  it  over  again  from  the 
very  beginning  —  she  reading  it  aloud  to  me.  We  want 
to  get  the  effect  of  it  as  a  whole. 

I  have  said  nothing,  but  you  know  how  much  I  feel 
for  you  in  finishing  this  great  work,  to  which  you 
have  given  so  much  thought  and  love  these  last  years 
—  it  must  be  like  breaking  off  of  some  sacred  compan- 
ionship. 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Tuesday. 


Aet.  32  309 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

That  I  may  be  a  word  of  God,  not  a  mere  cry. 

Indirectly  quoted  from  St.  Ignatius. 

They  who  are  sick  need  a  Saviour;  they  who  have 
wandered  a  guide;  they  who  are  blind  one  who  shall 
lead  them  to  the  light;  they  who  thirst  the  living  foun- 
tain, of  which  he  who  partakes  shall  thirst  no  more; 
the  dead  need  life;  the  sheep  a  shepherd;  children  a 
tutor;  all  mankind  need  Jesus. 

CLEMENT  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 


310  1901 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

January  3rd,  1901. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Did  you  hear  how  Boston  welcomed  in  the  New  Cen- 
tury with  hymns  and  the  noise  of  trumpets? 

We  have  been  reading  Mr.  Brooks's  sermon  ' <  The 
Great  Expectation,"  and  thinking  with  what  joy  and 
hope  he  would  have  looked  forward  into  the  new  stage 
of  the  world's  life  even  tho'  there  is  "  distress  of  nations 
with  perplexity  and  men's  hearts  failing  them  for  fear 
and  for  looking  after  those  things  which  are  coming  on 
the  earth." 

Booker  Washington  finished  one  of  his  speeches  with, 
"Why  am  I  hopeful  about  my  race?  Because  I  have 
read  American  History.  Because  we  went  into  slavery 
two  centuries  ago  without  a  language  and  came  out 
speaking  the  noble  Anglo-Saxon  tongue.  Because  we 
went  in  Pagans  and  came  out  Christians.  Because  we 
went  in  with  the  chains  of  slavery  on  our  arms  and 
came  out  with  the  American  spelling-book  in  one  hand 
and  the  Bible  in  the  other."  Isn't  that  fine? 

And  now  to  descend  from  these  heights  to  dear  every- 
day things.  I  was  delighted  with  that  perfectly  charm- 
ing handkerchief,  and  it  came  as  such  a  surprise.  To 
be  sure  I  felt  a  little  as  if  I  had  had  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent from  my  Owl  on  the  day  itself,  for  Mamma  had 
those  two  photographs  of  beautiful  stiff  angels  you 
once  gave  me  framed  together  for  Rackrent  —  such  a 
pretty  picture  they  make. 

I  had  numbers  and  numbers  of  pretty  things,  includ- 
ing a  new  silk  coat,  a  promised  gown  from  Mamma 
(shall  I  ever  need  it,  I  wonder?),  old  silver  from  Mr. 


Aet.  32  311 

Paine  and  Ethel,  a  charming  night-lamp  from  Mrs. 
Whitman,  and  a  twenty  dollar  gold-piece  from  Paulina, 
to  spend  on  my  follies. 

But  the  present  that  touched  me  most  was  a  great 
bundle  of  evergreens  from  poor  old  Ben  Morse,  at  Man- 
chester. Every  picture  is  draped  with  it  and  gives  the 
"  little  Sanctuary  "  a  most  Christmas-y  look. 

I  wish  we  could  live  at  this  season  all  the  year  —  or 
rather,  keep  the  spirit  of  it  fresh  in  our  hearts. 

I  am  better  —  really  better,  after  giving  them  all  a 
long  fright.  I  ought  to  have  been  named  for  my  great- 
grandmother  De Wolfe,  oughtn't  I?  I  cry  it  so  often. 

Mamma  and  I  are  delighting  in  the  ' '  Letters  of  T.  E. 
Brown."  Have  you  seen  them?  There  is  one  on  the 
death  of  his  wife  that  I  am  sure  would  go  straight  to 
your  heart. 

Don't,  in  exciting  Rome,  forget 

Your  loving 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ISABELLA  CURTIS. 

•±8  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

BOSTON,  January  28. 
Dear  Bella, 

The  "Queen  of  the  Mavis"  sends  you  his  love  and 
this  spotted  feather  from  his  breast.  Professor  Allen, 
wishing  to  be  sympathetic,  said  he  had  a  fine  head  and 
shoulders.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  bird's  shoulders  be- 
fore? He  is  a  very  dear  fellow.  Otherwise  what  news 
have  we  to  send  you  from  this  sad,  sad  town.  It  is  a 
comfort  to  think  of  Mrs.  Fiske's  having  two  such  sons- 
in-law  to  stand  by  her,  and  how  happy  it  must  make 


312  1901 

Elinor  to  feel  how  much  she  is  to  them  all  at  this  time. 
Didn't  you  feel  awfully  about  the  old  Queen's  death? 
We  feel  as  though  one  of  the  foundations  of  the  world 
had  fallen,  and  every  one  is  gloomy  except  Mrs.  Whit- 
man, who  strikes  a  more  cheerful  note.  "Victoria," 
she  says,  "  was  modern  and  sporadic;  with  Edward 
VII  she  feels  as  though  she  had  lapsed  into  history." 

Mr.  Paine  told  us  he  was  much  amused  yesterday  at 
a  service  at  the  Central  Church,  to  have  them  say,  in  a 
prayer,  that  they  trusted  "she  had  gone  to  a  larger 
sphere  of  usefulness."  As  though,  poor  thing,  she  had 
been  a  "  violet  by  a  mossy  stone,  half  hidden  from  the 
eye." 

Mrs.  Be1!!  came  to  make  her  farewell  call  yesterday 
and  was  so  fascinating  that  we  were  less  and  less  rec- 
onciled to  her  being  torn  from  us.  They  go  abroad  to- 
morrow night.  She  speaks  of  modern  Paris  as  ' '  Albany 
with  the  streets  running  with  blood." 


To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

Sunday. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Quite  a  wail  went  up  yesterday  when  you  did  not 
appear!  We  hope  it  was  only  the  extreme  cold,  or 
some  trifling  business,  that  kept  you,  and  not  illness. 

Of  course  we  understood  your  not  coming  the  week 
before.  We  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Stone's  death. 

We  had  so  many  things  to  ask  and  tell  you  about  the 
book  —  indeed,  we  begin  saving  up  Sunday  and  usually 
forget  half  we  wanted  to  say  when  Saturday  comes. 

And  that  reminds  me.  Miss  Foster  wanted  me  to 
ask  you  about  the  Sermon  on  Civil  Service  Reform, 


Aet.  32  313 

preached  by  Mr.  Brooks  in  '89,  and  mentioned  on  page 
721  of  Volume  II. 

Is  Mr.  William  Brooks  the  person  to  apply  to  in  view 
of  its  publication  —  or  would  this  be  out  of  the  ques- 
tion? Miss  Foster  is  "  prominent  in  Civil  Service  Re- 
form Circles,"  as  the  newspaper  would  say. 

Miss  Lowell  is  delighted  with  the  Life  —  indeed,  we 
hear  only  a  chorus  of  praise.  Mr.  Higginson  gave  it  to 
Mrs.  Higginson  as  a  Christmas  present,  and  they  in- 
tended to  read  it  together,  but  she  could  wait  no  longer 
and  has  started  without  him.  Paulina  found  her  last 
night  just  thro'  the  ancestry  chapter,  over  which  she 
was  most  enthusiastic. 

We  are  deep  in  the  theology. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

St.  Valentine's  Day. 
My  darling  Elinor, 

You  would  think,  with  my  love  of  birds,  that  I  would 
get  used  to  the  spring  and  fall  migrations  of  old  pets, 
but  don't.  I  think  of  putting  half  a  dozen  favorite 
friends  into  cages  and  keeping  them  always  about  me, 
but  in  the  meanwhile  — 

No  matter,  you'll  soon  be  back,  and  when  in  May 
you  come  driving  up  to  Rackrent  you  will  see  me  look- 
ing out  for  you  through  an  opera  glass  to  see  if  you've 
got  the  proper  amount  of  wing-bars  and  a  "  partially 
concealed  erectile  crest." 

Have  a  lovely  time  and  come  home  rested  and  re- 
freshed to  your  mission  of  sympathizer  and  comforter. 


314:  1901 

As  we  get  older  that  must  be  more  and  more  our 
desire  and  inspiration  —  that  and  being  a  little  worthier 
of  the  past,  whose  full  glory  and  dearness  we  did  not 
know  "when  we  walked  therein." 

I  don't  ever  tell  you  —  being  shy,  you  know,  with 
strangers  —  how  I  love  you,  and  how  my  heart  strings 
are  wrapped  round  both  Sharksmouth  and  "  28,"  which 
I  have  never  had  to  remember  without  your  father. 

Nothing  takes  the  place  of  the  old,  and  our  roots  have 
gone  down  deep  into  the  same  soil  together,  haven't 
they?  And  drunk  of  the  same  stream,  and  the  same 
birds  have  sung  among  our  branches  —  as  they  do 
today. 

Your  loving 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

March  llth. 
Dear  Girls, 


But  little  Bol's  letter  sounded  gloomy. 

If  the  gloom  ever  comes  on  again  come  right  home 
and  set  up  a  Japanese  robin.  Helen  has  just  given  one 
to  me  and  he  lives  with  the  Judge  and  the  Admiral  of 
the  Blue  as  happy  as  can  be.  And  sings!  He  posi- 
tively shouts  for  joy,  just  like  a  big  robin;  only  he  is 
little  and  gray,  with  a  red  beak,  a  moss-green  head, 
and  a  flame-coloured  throat.  If  it  weren't  for  his  large 
thrush  eye  he  would  look  like  a  fast  chickadee  who  had 


Aet.  32  315 

put  on  gay  clothes  and  rouged  his  beak.     But  he  isn't 
coming  to  Monte  Carlo! 

Your  fondest 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Easter  Eve. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

When  Paulina  called  last  and  found  a  carriage  at 
your  door  to  carry  you  and  your  mother  to  Andover 
we  were  pleased,  but  since  — 

What  weather  you  have  had  —  and  weather  means 
so  much  more  in  the  country. 

How  have  Mrs.  Brooks's  health  and  spirits  stood  it,  and 
has  she  been  strong  enough  to  enjoy  seeing  Susie's  boy? 

We  have  you  all  constantly  in  our  thoughts.  Indeed, 
dear  Gertrude,  your  wonderful  courage  and  cheerful- 
ness are  a  help  to  us  all. 

What  f aintings  of  the  heart  you  must  often  almost 
sink  under  we  can  only  guess  at  —  what  self-control 
and  long  patience  and  unselfish  interest  in  others  we 
can  see  a  little.  "Tarry  thou  the  Lord's  leisure;  be 
strong  and  He  shall  comfort  thine  heart!" 

And  hers,  too,  who  has  been  called  on  to  endure  so 
much  hardness  these  last  years  —  depression  of  spirit  as 
well  as  pain  of  body,  and  weakness,  which  is  worse 
than  pain.  ' '  But  when  the  times  of  restitution  come  — 
The  sweet  times  of  refreshment  come  at  last." 

And  will  you  give  her  my  dearest  love  and  wish  her 
and  yourself  all  the  brightest  Easter  wishes  from  me? 

Lovingly  always, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


316  1901 

SUMMER  OF  1901.  — BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 

And  smalle  fowles  maken  melodic. 

Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song ; 

No  winter  in  thy  year. 

JOHN  LOGAN. 

Bare  ruined  choirs  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

Legend  of  St.  Brendan. 

And  when  the  eventide  was  come  the  birds  began  all 
with  one  voice  to  sing  and  clap  their  wings,  crying, 
"  Thou,  0  God,  art  praised  in  Zion  and  unto  Thee  shall 
the  vow  be  performed  in  Jerusalem."  And  always  they 
repeated  that  verse  for  an  hour,  and  their  melody  and 
the  clapping  of  their  wings  was  like  music  which  drew 
tears  by  its  sweetness.  .  .  .  And  when  the  dawn  shone 
they  sang  again,  ' '  The  splendour  of  the  Lord  is  over 
us;"  and  at  the  third  hour,  "Sing  psalms  to  our  God; 
sing,  sing  to  our  King,  sing  with  wisdom ; "  and  at  the 
sixth,  "  The  Lord  has  lifted  up  the  light  of  His  counte- 
nance upon  us."  So  day  and  night  those  birds  gave 
praise  to  God. 

This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve 

By  his  lov'd  masonry  that  heaven's  breath 

Smells  wooingly  here.   .   .   . 

Where  they  most  brood  and  haunt 

I  have  observed 

The  air  is  delicate. 


Aet.  32  317 

May  6. 

Moved  to  Manchester,  to  April  skies  but  bare  trees. 
Saw  four  or  five  Robins  driving  up  from  the  station; 
otherwise  emptiness  and  silence. 

May  7. 

At  gray  dawn  the  earliest  pipe  of  half -a  wakened  birds, 
Robins,  roused  us  to  ornithological  duties. 

Before  breakfast  saw  a  pair  of  Red-breasted  Nuthatches 
constantly  eating  about  the  barrel  house,  two  beautiful 
male  Black-throated  Greens  in  our  tree  and  about,  a 
brilliant  Pine  Warbler  in  the  pine,  and  a  fat  little  Gray 
Warbler  with  yellow  bib  and  wing-bars  on  the  tree,  who 
afterward  turned  out  to  be  his  wife,  as  we  saw  them 
kissing  in  the  air. 

Exquisite  warm  day;  spent  eight  and  a  half  hours  in 
the  open  air  and  had  the  bird-table  set  out  and  the 
granary  taken  down,  including  squirrel  nest,  in  the 
basement.  The  red  owner  came  to  seek  it  in  the  after- 
noon. Heard  Song-sparrows,  Oven-birds,  and  a  Bob 
White;  some  unfamiliar  songs,  and  what  we  took  for 
a  Flicker's  voice.  Three  birds  fly  into  the  pine  —  one 
has  a  deep  rose  breast  —  Purple  Finch  at  last.  We  also 
see  a  pair  of  Chickadees,  and  I  see  Downy,  and  Paulina 
sees  Phoebe  and  one  Robin. 

And  the  Spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way.  —  COLERIDGE. 

May  12,  Sunday. 

Like  the  soul 

Of  the  sweet  season,  vocal  in  a  bird, 
Gurgles  in  ecstasy  we  know  not  what. 


318  1901 

Clears  off  exquisitely  warm  and  bright  at  noon.  Be- 
tween three  and  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  lie 
on  my  piazza,  I  hear  a  few  preliminary  harsh  notes,  and 
then  a  small  bird  launches  himself  into  the  air,  between 
hemlocks  and  crooked  pine,  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  song 
—  a  musical  rocket  —  and  is  gone  almost  before  I  realize 
that  I  have  seen  the  Oven-bird  singing  his  afternoon 
song.  Heard  him  twice  again  an  hour  later,  and  at 
six  see  him  again,  this  time  bursting  from  the  hem- 
locks over  the  house,  and  so  near  that  I  can  see  his 
lighter  breast  and  his  whole  body  quivering.  Hear, 
several  times,  a  chittering  of  Swallows,  or  Swifts,  and 
see  two  or  three  groups  of  small  birds,  flying  high  at 
sunset,  who  might  be  they.  Also  largish  bird  with 
sharp  chirp.  Throstle  and  I  stay  out  till  nearly  seven 
and  enjoy  a  two  hours'  concert  from  a  Wood  Thrush 
soloist. 

May  16. 

They  pruned  themselves  and  made  themselves  right  gay, 
Dancing  and  leaping  light  upon  the  spray  ; 
And  ever  two  and  two  together  were, 
The  same  as  they  had  chosen  for  the  year 
Upon  St.  Valentine's  returning  day. 

CHAUCER'S  "  Cuckoo  and  Nightingale." 

Exquisite  day.  See  all  the  birds  of  yesterday  but 
Pine  Warbler.  Parula  and  Black-throated  Blue,  and 
in  addition  our  first  Vireo,  the  yellow-throated.  Later 
he  and  his  mate  in  crooked  pine. 

See  two  Redstarts  —  males  in  full  chase  —  also  court- 
ings  and  fightings  innumerable  among  the  Black- 
throated  Greens.  Mrs.  Black- throated  Green  lands  on 


Aet.  32  319 

table,  and  Humming-bird  sits  in  tree,  and  I  can  see  the 
ruby  at  his  throat.  Chestnut-sided,  very  prominent, 
house-hunting,  and  in  full  song.  I  also  see  a  big,  heavy 
bird  flying  low  over  the  house.  Short  tail,  white 
stomach,  long  neck,  and  black  head?  Saw  a  beautiful 
gray  Squirrel  in  full  plumage. 

May  18. 

With  what  a  clear  and  ravishing  sweetness  sang  the  plaintive 

thrush ; 

I  love  to  hear  his  delicate,  rich  voice 
Chanting  through  all  the  gloomy  day,  when  loud 
Amid  the  trees  is  dropping  the  big  rain, 
And  gray  mists  wrap  the  hills  for  aye  ;  the  sweeter 

His  song  is  when  the  day  is  sad  and  dark. 

LONGFELLOW. 

Cold  and  gray.  Two  male  Redstarts  pursuing  each 
other  through  my  tree,  the  color  of  the  oak  buds.  Mr. 
Nuthatch  feeds  his  wife  very  tenderly  with  suet;  later 
a  Chickadee  feeds  his  wife  in  the  tree,  while  Mrs.  Black- 
throated  Green  carries  more  wicking  up  into  the  pine. 
Chestnut-sided  all  about  in  full  song.  At  breakfast- 
time  get  my  first  view  of  a  King-bird  and  a  splendid 
view  of  the  first  Blue  Jay  of  the  season.  See  the  Wood 
Thrush  a  number  of  times,  also  Indigo-bird,  and  Mrs. 
Downy,  Robins  and  Crows.  Pouring  with  rain,  but 
Thrush  chants  his  vespers  undisturbed. 


May  28. 

"  And  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day."  Mrs.  Downy, 
the  Nuthatches  and  the  Chickadees  come  eagerly  for 
their  breakfast  with  their  feathers  touzled  and  wet. 
Later  Indigo-bird  appears,  neat,  glossy  and  composed. 


320  1901 

Blue  Jay  comes  to  eat  suet  and  I  get  a  splendid  view  of 
a  Flicker  sitting  in  a  pine  branch  with  his  red  collar 
gleaming  and  his  wings  hanging  so  that  I  see  the  golden 
shafts.  The  Blue  Jay  returns  five  more  times  to  the 
suet,  so  big  and  handsome  and  blue,  and  once  while 
he  eats  Mrs.  Black-throated  Green  sits  on  a  twig  close 
by  and  watches  him.  See  besides,  through  the  win- 
dows, Robins  and  Crows.  In  the  heavy  mist  Oven-bird 
sings  his  flight-song  over  and  over,  and  the  Whippoor- 
will  calls  from  the  brook. 

The  High-hole  flashing  his  golden  wings. 

June  4. 

Exquisite  day  from  dawn  and  much  warmer.  Get 
my  first  really  good  sight  of  an  Oven-bird  hopping  along 
a  bare  branch  and  singing,  and  later  see  him,  or  rather 
the  Golden-crowned  Thrush,  walking  down  by  the  gar- 
den bed,  and,  finally,  carrying  off  a  big  piece  of  boiled  egg. 

Male  Ruby-throated  Humming  Bird  sits,  gleaming 
with  green  and  crimson,  on  the  downstairs  piazza  rail. 
Get  several  glimpses  of  an  unknown  warbler  with  a 
yellow  rump  —  some  yellow  on  wings  or  side  and  a  gen- 
eral grayish  back? 

After  lunch  a  biggish  bird  flies  into  my  tree  and  sits 
for  ten  minutes  or  so  on  the  suet  branch,  quite  still  or 
pruning  her  feathers,  smaller  than  a  robin,  with  a  me- 
dium stout  bill  —  no  eye-ring  or  wing  bars.  The  head 
and  the  whole  body  yellowish  green,  the  tail  long,  slen- 
der and  dusky  grayish  brown,  as  were  also  the  wings  — 
Mrs.  Scarlet  Tanager! 

At  eleven  put  the  "Admiral  of  the  Blue"  into  the 
big  cage  and  open  the  door — he  flies  out,  but  only 


Aet.  32  321 

diagonally  across  the  piazza,  where  he  sits  looking  out 
through  the  bars  into  the  tree  for  a  while  and  then  hops 
back  into  his  cage,  where  he  remains,  though  the  door 
is  left  open  until  four  o'clock. 

Like  a  caged  bird  escaping  suddenly. 
And  as  the  cageling  newly  flown  returns. 

June  21. 

Showery  and  warm  —  cleared  off  exquisitely  by  sun- 
set. Waked  by  a  great  clamor  of  young  and  old  birds 
near  Paulina's  oak.  Paulina  saw  a  Yellow- throated 
Vireo  in  the  tumult.  Later  two  or  three  young  bird  flur- 
ries under  my  tree,  in  which  Vireo  and  Wood  Thrush 
take  part.  Oven-bird  picking  up  cracker  by  the  garden 
path,  and  Jay  on  the  ground  there.  Bob  White  voices 
very  near.  At  six  Baltimore  Oriole  hangs  about  in  his 
oak.  At  six  Phoebe  appears  again  in  the  crooked  pine, 
etc.  Later  we  get  a  splendid  view  of  the  Oven-bird, 
singing  his  exquisite  song  far,  far  above  our  heads  — 
then  as  the  trill  breaks  he  falls  with  it  and  drops  down 
among  the  tree  tops. 

That  strain  again  !  it  had  a  dying  fall : 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor. 

June  23,  Sunday. 

Heavy  fog,  which  clears  by  ten  o'clock,  when  Black- 
throated  Green  hovers  all  about  my  tree;  then  the  Red- 
start who  wants  to  come  on  to  the  table,  and  quarrels 
with  Nuthatch  on  the  subject.  Jays  about  the  mound 
and  Wood  Thrush  "chooking"  in  the  sumachs. 


322  1901 

Just  before  lunch  one  Chickadee  returns  to  the  table 
after  a  nine  days'  absence  and  I  suddenly  perceive  that 
there  are  three  Nuthatches,  the  little  father  eating  nuts, 
and  two  babies  in  my  tree,  fatter,  fluffier,  with  yellower 
breast  and,  if  possible,  stubbier  tail. 

Hear  and  see  more  of  them  later  in  further  pine  trees, 
tenderly  waited  on  by  their  papa  while  their  dingy 
mother  takes  a  much-needed  rest. 

Red-eyed  Vireo  comes  into  the  tree,  and  of  course 
Indigo-bird.  In  the  afternoon  another  thunderstorm 
and  more  fog. 

June  26. 

Looked  out  at  sunrise,  deep  pink  through  a  grey  mist, 
and  every  bush  and  tree  musical  with  little  bird  voices. 
Mrs.  Nuthatch  eats  from  the  dish  in  my  hand  four 
times.  Paulina  sees  the  lost  honeymooning  Tits  be- 
yond the  paddock.  The  Wood  Thrush  comes  into 
my  tree  as  well  as  the  Red-eyed  and  Yellow-throated 
Vireos,  and  I  see  the  Chestnut-sided  Warbler.  Very 
hot  all  day,  but  the  afternoon  nearly  as  exquisite  as 
yesterday,  and  the  Thrushes  even  more  glorious.  One 
sits  for  fifteen  minutes  on  the  tip  of  a  pine,  singing 
steadily,  while  three  others  answer  him .  Black- throated 
Green  bathes  twice.  Robins  thick  everywhere.  See  the 
Oven-bird's  flight-song.  Spent  the  night  out  of  doors, 
and  just  at  twelve,  as  the  moon  sinks  behind  the  trees, 
the  Oven-bird  bursts  into  an  ecstasy. 

June  27. 

At  3.30  the  Whippoorwill  stops  singing  and  all  the 
other  birds  chirp  themselves  awake.  At  five  the  most 
exquisite  Thrush  music  for  two  hours,  three  long  duets 
from  a  singer  on  the  tip  of  the  crooked  pine  and  one 


Aet.  32  323 

on  the  near  hemlocks,  each  duet  ended  by  the  hemlock 
Thrush  joining  the  other  in  the  pine,  singing  awhile, 
and  then  flying  after  each  other  at  six.  Mr.  Nuthatch 
eats  from  the  dish  in  my  hand.  Black-throated  Green 
bathes  twice  and  Chestnut-sided  and  Indigo-bird  land 
in  my  tree  all  at  once.  See  beside,  before  breakfast. 
Jays  and  Red-eyed  Vireos  everywhere,  Swallows  and 
Swifts,  Crows  and  Robins,  Black-and-white  Warbler  in 
my  tree  and  finally  Wood  Pewee. 

Also  see  one  Baby  Nuthatch  being  fed  in  distant 
pine,  later.  See  the  two  babies,  as  usual,  not  far  apart. 
A  flurry  of  Black- throated  Greens  come  into  my  trees 
—  two  Red-eyed  Vireos,  and  then  an  entirely  strange 
bird  —  warm  brown,  with  lighter  breast,  a  little  striped 
head,  a  little  puffed  up,  and  a  most  familiar  beak  and 
Indigoish  chirp,  wings  not  barred,  but  different  shades 
of  brown  —  Mrs.  Indigo,  of  course. 

Baby  Nuthatch  No.  I  flutters  up  between  the  awning 
and  the  wire  door,  while  Baby  No.  II  sits  on  the  piazza 
rail.  Very  hot  day,  but  lovely  toward  sunset.  While 
we  watch  a  Wood  Thrush  singing  we  see  the  glint  of  a 
ruby,  catch  the  light  on  the  same  twig,  and  see  the 
most  beautiful  male  Humming-bird  —  who  sits  after- 
wards in  the  crooked  pine — a  marvel  of  beauty .  See  the 
Oven-bird  in  his  flight-song,  as  we  do  now  very  often. 

There  is  a  nameless  air 

Of  sweet  renewal  over  all,  which  fills 

The  earth  and  sky  with  life,  and  everywhere, 

Before  the  scarce-seen  sun  begins  to  glow, 

The  birds  awake  which  slumbered  all  night  long. 

And  with  a  gush  of  song, 

First  doubting  of  their  strain,  then  full  and  wide, 

Raise  their  fresh  hymns  thro'  all  the  country  side. 


324  1901 

July  1. 

Waked  at  four  by  a  glorious  Thrush  concert.  See 
before  breakfast  eight  of  the  same  birds  as  yesterday, 
plus  a  Crow,  a  Yellow-throated  Vireo,  and  the  dear 
Redstart.  Black-throated  Green  bathes,  the  Vireos 
hunt  the  Jays  about,  and  the  Goldfinch  voices  come  very 
near.  The  Nuthatch  babies  appear  again  in  great  force 
and  their  parents  are  not  too  busy  to  do  a  good  deal  of 
courting.  Chestnut-sided  Warbler  comes  into  my  tree 
and  Oven-bird  feeds  on  the  garden  path.  At  five  see 
for  the  first  time  the  preliminaries  to  the  flight-song, 
—  the  Oven-bird  making  his  way  up  to  the  top  of 
Paulina's  oak  and  then  launching  himself  off.  Slept 
out  —  breathlessly  hot. 

July  6. 

Male  Humming-bird  darts  between  the  oak  scrub 
and  the  honeysuckle  —  a  blaze  of  crimson.  Blue  Jay 
in  the  tree  before  breakfast.  Indigo-bird  on  the  table 
and  Baby  Nuthatches  all  over  crooked  pine.  One 
little  girl  and  one  little  boy  (in  beaver  hat)  sit  close 
together,  eating  suet,  and  the  little  boy  takes  nuts 
from  the  dish  held  up  to  him  by  Paulina,  as  does  the 
little  mother.  The  father  only  lands  on  the  dish  held 
out  anywhere. 

July  7. 

Like  a  pomegranate  flower 

In  the  dark  foliage  of  the  cedar  tree, 

Shone  out  and  sang  for  me. 

Baltimore  Oriole  day.  One  appears  in  his  own  oak 
at  breakfast  time;  then  two  on  the  "gate-post  pine;" 


Aet.  32  325 

then  a  brownish  bird  with  yellowish  breast  and  orange 
rump  and  tail  —  my  first  Mrs.  Baltimore  Oriole.  Then 
the  two  dash  about,  whistling,  chattering,  flashing 
from  tree  to  tree. 

Three  Baby  Boy  Nuthatches  sit  on  the  suet  branch 
together,  eat  from  dish  held  to  them  frequently,  and 
one  lands.  Baby  Girl  feeds  twice  from  dish  held  to 
her.  Oven-bird  sits  in  my  tree  and  Mr.  Humming- 
bird settles  pensively  in  crooked  pine.  Chickadee  eats 
suet  and  Indigo-bird  seed. 

Wood  Thrushes  glorious  after  lunch.  Saw  one  of 
them  and  also  Chestnut-sided  Warbler,  Eed-eyed  Vireo, 
etc. ,  and,  last  of  all,  Jays  being  chased  from  the  garden 
path  by  the  irate  parents  of  the  neighborhood.  Saw 
the  flight- song. 

July  24. 

Baby-bird  day.  Twitterings  from  every  bush  nurs- 
ery and  broods  of  Red-eyed  Vireos,  Black-and-white 
Creepers,  Black-throated  Greens,  and  Chestnut-sided 
Warblers  everywhere  with  anxious  parents  (the  latter 
green  back  and  top  of  head,  whitish  face  and  breast, 
yellowish  wing-bars,  but  tail  erect  and  wings  drooping 
in  the  correct  manner).  Saw  my  first  Cedar  Waxwings, 
one  six  times,  sitting  on  a  sunny  pine  top,  so  that  I 
could  see  even  the  red  on  his  wings.  Also  two  King- 
birds (not  seen  since  May  18th),  two  Hummers  who 
come  together  (neither  adult  male),  Redstart,  Pine 
Warbler,  three  mealers,  etc.  Flight-song  and  a  near 
Thrush  concert. 

Hatched  and  fed  as  safe  as  may  be 
Many  a  little  feathered  baby. 


326  1901 

Aug.  2. 

Another  perfect  day.  Saw  twenty  kinds  of  birds,  in- 
cluding Barn  and  Tree  Swallows,  Chebec,  my  first  male 
Downy  Woodpecker  of  the  season  and  my  first  Scarlet 
Tanager;  male  Blackbirds  far  overhead  and  Goldfinches 
a  little  nearer,  so  that  for  the  first  time  this  year  I  saw 
the  yellow  breast  and  dark  wings. 

After  breakfast  the  sunny  hillside,  about  and  below 
the  crooked  pine,  the  oak  scrubs,  barberries,  everywhere, 

were  — 

All  alive  with  tiny  things, 
Stirring  feet  and  whirring  wings, 
Just  an  instant  seen. 

Aug.  19. 

Two  great  birds  fly  low  over  the  mound  pine  as  large 
as  Crows,  with  square,  short  tails,  and,  seen  from  below, 
dark  gray  in  color —  Hawks  or  Owls.  See  besides,  Gulls, 
Crows,  Robins,  Vireos,  Swifts  and  Barn  Swallows, 
Black-throated  Greens  (male  and  female),  Black-and- 
white  Creepers,  one  of  whom  hops  along  piazza  rail. 
Young  Pine  Warbler,  young  Chestnut-sided,  adult  male 
Redstart,  distant  Goldfinches,  Wood  Pewee,  Chickadees 
and  Nuthatches,  who  bring  three  babies  today  —  a  girl 
and  two  very  baby  boys  who  sit  huddled  up  together  on 
a  branch  of  my  tree  for  an  hour  or  more  being  fed  and 
sleeping  —  the  most  adorable  feather  bunch. 

Oct.  3. 

Clears  at  noon  after  a  pouring  night.  In  the  bar- 
berry tangle,  eating  the  berries,  see  yesterday's  Thrush, 
whose  bright  brown  head  and  shoulders  suggest  the 
Wood,  if  it  were  not  too  late.  Later  see  an  all  olive 


Aet.  32  327 

backed  Thrush  in  the  tangle  with  throstle-like  breast, 
and  then  what  is  undoubtedly  the  Wood  Thrush.  A 
Brown  Creeper  creeps  up  my  tree  and  in  the  sumachs 
we  get  a  splendid  view  of  our  first  Ruby-crowned  King- 
let (uncrowned,  with  white  spectacles,  distinct  wing- 
bars,  forked  tail,  and  so  tiny).  See  twice  again  the 
duller  Thrush,  and  see  his  buffy  eye-ring  and  lores; 
why  not  the  Olive-backed? 

See  besides,  Chickadees,  Nuthatches,  a  seated  Jay, 
Robins  and  a  Junco  in  the  barberry  tangle,  and  then 
see  (in  a  flock  who  arrive  with  loud  chirpings)  one  spar- 
row-like bird,  distinctly  a  rich  brindle  back,  broad 
brown  and  black  stripes,  head  with  at  least  two  stripes, 
possibly  grayey  white  with  white  chin  piece,  young 
White-throated  Sparrow. 


328  1901 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

CASTLE  KACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 

(May  19.) 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

We  were  sorry  not  to  see  you  yesterday,  but  very  glad 
that  you  did  not  get  your  first  glimpse  of  Manchester  on 
such  a  grim  and  ugly  day. 

And  next  Saturday  we  will  try  to  arrange  the  weather 
better,  but  do  come  next  time,  won't  you,  rain  or  shine, 
on  the  12.40  train. 

A  week's  margin  is  all  the  view  deserves,  and  if  the 
skies  fail  us  we  can  look  inward  and  not  outward  — 
down  and  not  up. 

We  still  cling  to  Saturdays,  if  they  suit  you  as  well, 
from  sentimental  reasons. 

The  train  goes  to  Boston  in  the  evening  at  about  9.30, 
which  will  give  you  time  for  a  comfortable  cigar. 

You  see  we  haven't  borrowed  so  many  of  your  books 
without  guessing  that  you  smoke. 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Sunday,  May  19th. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Monday,  May  20. 
Oh,  dearest,  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Our  very  souls  are  wrung  for  you! 

The  alarming  message  —  the  long,  long,  anxious  voy- 
age, and  then  this  awful  news  to  greet  you  —  you  who 
have  had  so  much  sorrow  and  loneliness,  and  so  little 
joy,  these  last  years. 


Aet.  32  329 

And  I  know  a  little  how  close  your  sister  was  to  you 
—  what  a  comfort  and  stay  —  what  a  true,  strong, 
unselfish  life  hers  was. 

You  must  feel  as  if  she  had  laid  down  health  and 
strength  —  almost  life  itself  —  in  the  service  of  others. 

Indeed,  if  the  shadow  had  fallen  upon  her  brave 
spirit  Death  must  seem  to  you  all  not  Death,  but  Life 
and  Light  and  the  Peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all 
understanding. 

That  must  be  the  only  comfort  to  your  stricken 
heart  these  awful  days.  "If  ye  loved  me  ye  would 
rejoice." 

I  long  to  put  my  arms  close  round  you,  dear. 

God  bless  you  always  and  always,  and  make  His  face 
to  shine  upon  you  in  your  darkest  hours. 

Yours  in  true  love  and  sympathy, 

ALICE. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 

MANCHESTER. 

June  3rd. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

This  isn't  a  note  to  answer,  but  just  a  little  word  of 
love  this  exquisite  day. 

I  wish  you  were  here  in  the  peace  and  glory  —  for 
our  hillside  is  a  mist  of  green  under  the  tender  blue 
of  the  sky  —  and  it  seems  somehow  easier  to  think  of 
you  and  Ellen  in  such  scenes  as  this. 

But  next  week  I  shall  have  you  both  —  Ellen  at  her 
own  house  —  and  you  even  closer.  That  will  be  so  dear 
—  and  you  will  stay  two  nights,  won't  you  —  so  as  to 
have  one  long,  still  day  between  the  journeys? 


330  1901 

Mamma's  seeing  you  was  a  comfort  to  us  all.  Do  you 
know  the  sense  of  things  being  unbearable?  I  mean  of 
sorrows  coming  close  to  one's  friends — till  one  sees  one's 
friends  and  feels  the  warmth,  as  it  were,  and  knows 
by  touch  and  sight  that  it  is  bearable  by  the  grace  of 
God, 

And  what  beautiful  tributes  to  your  sister  from  the 
town  of  Brookline  and  the  Catholics. 

As  I  was  thinking  of  her  and  you  the  other  day  I 
remembered  suddenly  a  verse  from  Mrs.  Browning  — 
do  you  know  it? 

The  heart  that  like  a  staff  was  one 
For  mine  to  lean  and  rest  upon, 
The  strongest  in  the  longest  day, 
With  patient  love  is  snatched  away, 
And  still  my  days  go  on  —  go  on. 

Lovingly  yours, 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ELINOR  CURTIS. 

MANCHESTER,  August  19. 
Dearest  Elinor, 

We  know  you  would  sympathize  with  the  fact  that 
little  Father  Nuthatch  has  brought  two  babies  of  his 
second  brood  to  call,  and  that  your  old  heart  would  melt 
if  you  could  see  them  cuddled  down  on  a  branch  close 
together,  like  two  dazed  feather  eggs,  with  their  pink 
melon-colored  waistcoats  shining  in  the  sun.  And  yes- 
terday one  of  the  little  monsters  flew  across  Alice  and 
clung  to  the  screen  door  for  a  long  while  within  reach 
of  her  hand  while  we  all  gathered  to  watch  him,  so 
fluffy  and  tailless,  with  tender  yellow  feet  and  yellow 


Aet.  32  331 

buttonhole  stitching  round  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
Then  he  climbed  slowly  up  the  whole  length  of  the 
door  and  flew  bravely.  And  then  the  two  old  Pewees 
have  brought  their  three  "  Weepes." 

Did  we  tell  you  why  we  can  never  more  write  to 
William  Brewster,  our  Massachusetts  advisory  counsel? 
We  described  a  rare  new  Warbler  we  had  seen,  with 
pearl-grey  waistcoat  and  crimson  cap.  He  wrote  back — 
hide  our  blushes — "Could  it  not  possibly  have  been 
allied  to  the  Chipping  Sparrow?  "  How  are  the  mighty 
fallen!  It  was. 

Alice  is  so  romantic  about  you  nowadays  that  I  make 
merry  on  the  subject.  She  says  that  if,  like  the  people 
in  Lear's  "  Nonsense  Rhymes,"  she  only  could  grow 
more  and  more  like  her  companions,  her  wings  would 
sprout  and  then  she  could  fly  over  mornings  to  Sharks- 
mouth  to  see  you  all. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  AND  PAULINA  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT, 
MANCHESTER. 

Sunday,  Sept.  30th. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

When  my  familiar  birds  slip  away  these  autumn  days 
and  leave  me  I  comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that 
warm  weather  will  bring  them  back  again  in  brighter 
plumage  and  full  song  —  and  how  much  more  my  human 
Owl! 

We  did  not  want  to  say  last  night  —  we  don't  like  to 


332  1901 

think  —  how  much  we  are  going  to  miss  you.  Only  get 
rested  and  refreshed  and  grow  such  an  elastic  conscience 
that  in  the  future  you  will  be  able  to  jump  up,  like 
Gulliver,  at  any  moment,  and  break  the  thousand  hairs 
that  tie  you  down. 

Then  we  shall  make  all  the  calls  on  your  time  and 
sympathy  we  long  to. 

It  makes  Boston  seem  a  chillier  place  to  go  back  to 
without  one  of  the  warm  hearts  that  beat  kindly  for  us 
to  bid  us  welcome. 

Real  friends  are  too  precious  to  spare!  But  we  don't 
live  by  sight,  and  the  thought  of  you  will  bring  Italy 
closer. 

God  keep  you  safe,  and  make  his  face  to  shine  upon 
you  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day. 

Your  grateful  and  loving 

ALICE. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Wednesday  Morning. 
Darling  little  Workbasket, 

It  was  nice  to  have  two  letters  from  you  walk  in  hand 
in  hand  late  yesterday  afternoon. 

Ethel  and  I  were  out  on  the  piazza,  and  inside  the 
screen  door  sat  Momb  and  Doodles  and  Krututsk,  who 
had  come  down  to  hear  about  Mauvaise,  in  her  uncle's 
arms. 

Ethel  looks  very  well  and  was  exceedingly  dear  and 
characteristic. 

Little  Father  Nuthatch  has  struck  —  for  shorter  hours 


Aet.  33  333 

and  more  time  to  eat  his  meals.  When  those  big  fat 
babies  choke  down  their  nuts  to  hop  after  him,  twid- 
dling their  wings  to  be  fed  —  he  bites  at  them  quite 
ferociously.  It  was  cunning  Monday  to  see  three  of 
those  same  babies  all  splashing  about  together  in  the 
big  tub  and  then  hanging  themselves  up  on  the  sunny 
tree-trunk  to  dry. 

I  asked  Josephine  last  evening  if  she  had  heard  the 
Owl  hooting. 

"  Yiss'm,"  she  replied,  eagerly,  "I  was  sitting  out  on 
the  steps.  Wasn't  it  just  lovely?  " 

Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  she  was  sitting  on 
the  steps  alone?  It  reminded  me  of  Burroughs's  saying 
it  was  no  use  making  inquiries  of  the  lovers  he  met  in 
the  English  lanes.  They  had  always  just  heard  the 

nightingale! 

Your 

MOCKING-BIRD. 

To  PROP.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

Christmas  Eve. 
Dear,  dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Our  hearts  have  been  very  heavy  for  you  since  Friday, 
when  your  letter  came. 

And  that  you  should  have  been  called  upon  to  bear 
such  an  irreparable  loss,  alone  —  away  from  home  and 
the  others,  who  knew  and  loved  him. 

When  we  stand  helplessly  and  see  a  dear  friend  enter 
into  a  great  sorrow  we  are  like  those  who  saw  Moses  go 
up  on  to  Sinai  —  we  can  see  the  clouds  and  the  light- 
ning, but  he  hears  the  voice  of  God. 

I  know  it  is  so  with  you  —  and  thank  you  for  telling 
us  about  your  brother. 


334  1901 

How  beautiful  Death  must  be  to  such  as  he! 

The  pure  spirit  must  flow 

Back  to  the  burning  fountain  whence  it  came  ; 

A  portion  of  the  Eternal  that  must  glow 

Through  time  and  change,  unquenchingly  the  same. 

But  oh!  it  doesn't  make  the  human  loss  and  need  less 
bitter,  I  know. 

One  just  has  to  rest  heavily  on  G-od's  will. 

The  beauty  about  you  will  bring  its  own  message  of 
peace,  and  Christmas  time  is  full  of  light  for  "those 
who  sit  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow." 

Paulina  sends  her  tenderest  sympathy.  She  is  busy 
running  up  and  down  from  St.  Andrew's  and  trimming 

our  own  tree. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  33  335 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

Christmas  Day,  1901.  —  M.  M.  W.  died. 

Men  are  more  truly  measured  by  their  fellows  when 
life  closes  than  at  any  other  time.  The  trumpet  note 
of  the  Saviour's  praise  echoes  to  earth  and  for  the  mo- 
ment drowns,  with  its  jubilance  and  beauty,  the  petty 
criticism,  the  false  and  disproportionate  judgments  that 
blind  us  to  true  human  worth.  We  hear  in  our  souls 
the  verdict  of  God,  and  we  cannot  but  admit  that  it  is 
true. 


336  1902 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

January  26th. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Your  letter  came  yesterday  and  was  a  great  comfort 
to  us  all.  You  are  in  the  deep  waters  and  know  how 
strange  its  ebbings  and  Sowings  are  —  how  at  one  time 
the  waves  seem  to  close  over  one's  head,  while  at  others 
there  is  a  great  calm. 

And  in  the  midmost  heart  of  grief 
Thy  passion  clasps  a  secret  joy. 

No,  indeed,  ' '  those  whom  we  lose  by  death  do  not 
quit  us  all  at  once,"  or  rather,  it  is  as  if  we,  too,  went  a 
little  way  with  them  and  caught  a  reflex  of  the  ineffa- 
ble vision. 

It  is  the  coming  back  alone  —  the  daily  missing. 

But  our  loneliness  is  shot  thro'  and  thro'  with  a  sense 
of  peace  and  gladness. 

His  going  was  so  quiet  and  painless  —  so  merciful  and 
inevitable.  After  that  first  stroke  it  was  death  that 
seemed  life  to  us  —  and  that  last  day  was  so  like  him  — 
quiet  and  unselfish  —  giving  no  trouble.  Did  Paulina 
tell  you  how  he  called  out  ' '  Merry  Christmas "  to 
Mamma  over  the  stairs  just  half  an  hour  before  he 
asked  her  to  come  into  his  room  and  said  he  must  have 
had  a  stroke?  He  was  quiet  and  calm  —  said  he  had  no 
pain  —  and  hoped  Dickson  and  the  children  would  come 
in  just  the  same  to  their  dinner  and  tree.  Then  he  fell 
asleep  and  passed  into  unconsciousness  and  death. 

Poor  Mamma — he  was  her  only  brother  and  had  shared 
all  her  joys  and  sorrows.  He  was  like  a  son  to  Papa 


Aet.  33  337 

and  since  his  death  has  lived  with  us  —  going  quietly  to 
and  from  his  work  —  * '  standing  by  "  as  he  would  have 
called  it  —  surrounding  all  our  lives  with  an  atmos- 
phere of  silent  sympathy  and  protection. 

And  his  pleasures  were  so  quiet:  beyond  the  profes- 
sion which  he  loved  he  wanted  nothing  but  his  books, 
a  long  drive  or  tramp  with  a  friend,  and  his  life  among 
us  all,  where  he  loved  best  to  sit  as  amused  spec- 
tator. Oh,  if  we  had  only  told  him  oftener  how  much 
we  cared!  We  children  couldn't  remember  the  time 
before  his  kindness  began  —  and  he  was  so  modest  and 
self-effacing  that  only  now,  in  the  large  light  of  death, 
do  we  fully  realize  the  full  beauty  of  that  life  of  unself- 
ish devotion,  of  faithfulness  to  every  trust.  "In  true 
humility  he  stood  firm,  in  simple  obedience  he  lived, 
in  charity  and  patience  he  walked." 

He  was  gentle  in  his  judgments;  dumb  in  the  expres- 
sion of  emotion;  very  pitiful  to  the  young  or  helpless 
or  unprotected.  Pain  for  those  he  loved  seemed  to 
wring  his  very  soul.  What  he  has  done  and  felt  for 
me  all  these  years  —  but  I  don't  dare  dwell  on  that. 

And  Dickson,  who  has  always  had  him  in  his  work 
as  counsellor  and  friend,  says  he  feels  as  if  he  had  lost 
his  father  for  the  second  time. 

His  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love. 

They  were  always  acts  —  not  words.  Under  the  tu- 
mults on  the  surface  there  are  always  lives  like  these  — 
the  anchor-lives.  And  it  has  been  so  comforting  to  find 
how  many  appreciated  what  he  was  —  not  only  the  old 
classmates  and  companions  —  the  boys  and  girls  who 
had  grown  up  about  him  and  always  called  him  "Uncle 


338  1902 

Melly  " — but  the  servants  who  worked  here,  and  all  the 
clients,  who  feel  as  if  they  had  lost  a  dear  friend. 

It  would  have  surprised  him  greatly. 

Mamma  bears  this  trouble  as  she  always  bears 
trouble,  so  bravely  and  quietly  —  never  thinking  of 
herself.  Wherever  she  is  there  may  be  sadness,  but  no 
gloom,  and  she  loves  to  dwell  on  the  past  with  as  many 
smiles  as  tears.  And  how  dear  the  past  shines  out  at 
such  times.  Indeed,  grief  seems  to  test  the  real  things 
of  life,  doesn't  it?  —  not  to  rob  us  of  joy,  but  to  add  a 
new  depth  and  glow  to  everything,  however  small,  that 
really  reaches  down  to  the  eternal  source  of  things  — 

human  and  divine. 

* 

Pleasures  seem  tawdry  —  but  joy,  friendship,  the 
beauty  of  the  world,  even  one's  daily  bread,  seem  sacred. 

I  can  understand  your  deepened  interest  in  Rome. 

Do  you  remember  the  passage  from  ' '  Robert  Fal- 
coner"? "To  the  God  of  the  human  heart  nothing 
that  ever  has  been  a  joy,  a  grief,  a  passing  interest, 
can  ever  cease  to  be  what  it  has  been;  there  is  no  fading 
at  the  breath  of  time,  no  parsing  away  of  fashion,  no 
dimming  of  old  memories  in  the  heart  of  Him  whose 
being  creates  Time." 

I  am  so  glad  you  knew  my  uncle  a  little  in  his  home 

life. 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  LADY  BEAUMONT. 

March  26th,  1902. 
Dearest  Lady  Beaumont, 

Your  letter  came  last  night  and  was  a  great  comfort. 
All  you  said  was  so  true  —  so  true  of  my  dear  uncle 


Aet.  33  339 

and  of  what  is  the  most  poignant  part  of  our  grief  —  of 
not  letting  him  know  more  all  he  was  to  us  while  we 
still  had  him  —  of  the  great  miss  his  going  would  leave 
in  our  lives  —  and  yet  we  try  not  to  dwell  too  much  on 
our  loneliness,  or  our  own  imperfections  in  the  irreme- 
diable past. 

It  is  a  comfort  to  think  of  that  good,  unselfish  life 
having  so  peaceful  a  going  home,  and  when  we  look 
about  us  and  see  how,  to  many,  the  will  of  God  must 
be  groped  for  in  storm  and  darkness,  we  cannot  be  too 
grateful  that  to  us  it  came  so  graciously. 

And  we  thank  God,  not  only  for  his  death,  but  the 
whole  life  he  lived  among  us  and  the  example  he  has  left. 

"  In  true  humility  he  stood  firm,  in  simple  obedience 
he  lived,  in  charity  and  patience  he  walked." 

Mamma  is  as  brave  and  unselfish  as  she  always  is  — 
taking  her  sorrow  straight  from  God's  hands  and  cast- 
ing no  shadow  on  those  about  her  —  but  the  loss  is  a 
very,  very  heavy  one. 

All  his  life  Uncle  Melly  had  shared  her  joys  and  sor- 
rows, and  she  had  no  other  brother  or  sister. 

But  we  have  Dickson  —  and  what  that  means  to  us 
words  cannot  tell.  We  are  building  him  a  simple  house 
on  our  little  Manchester  place,  so  that  he  can  be  with 
us  and  yet  not  separated  from  his  own  wife  and  babies. 

They  are  all  very  happy  over  it. 

Last  month  we  spent  having  the  "grippe,"  and  I 
think  it  will  be  a  really  good  thing  in  the  end  for 
Mamma,  as  it  made  her  take  the  rest  and  care  she 
needed. 

And  Easter  is  coming  with  its  great  message. 

Lovingly, 

ALICE  W.  S. 


34:0  1902 

SUMMER  OF  1902.  —  BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 

Ring  sudden  laughters  of  the  Jay. 

TENNYSON. 

The  early  Redstart  twittering  through  the  woods. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Song  birds  in  every  furrow. 

HEYWOOD. 
May  11,  Sunday. 

Waked  by  a  great  shrieking  of  Jay  and  Crows,  appar- 
ently in  my  tree,  and  find  the  suet  gone.  Ice  still  in 
the  bird  pool,  but  get  out  at  nine  o'clock  and  see  in  the 
first  twenty  minutes  Blue  Jay,  Crows,  Indigo-bird  and 
Boy  Nuthatch,  both  eating  on  table,  Chickadee,  —  our 
first,  —  Parula  in  hemlock  hedge  and  my  tree  pursued 
playfully  by  Black- throated  Green;  then,  like  a  bright 
butterfly,  fluttering  all  about  the  mound  pines,  our  first 
Redstart,  and  at  the  same  time,  buzzing  across  the 
piazza  and  seated  facing  me  in  the  hemlocks,  our  first 
Ruby-throated  Humming-bird:  in  all  eight  birds,  and 
three  of  them  new.  Later  see  the  Black-and-white 
Warbler  repeatedly,  and  my  first  Chestnut-sided  War- 
bler in  my  tree;  also  one  Swallow.  Mrs.  Nuthatch 
eats  hemp  on  the  cracks  of  her  favorite  piazza  post 
and  two  Nuthatches,  boy  and  girl,  take  to  coming  to- 
gether, but  no  little,  dingy,  black-headed  Father  Nut- 
hatch. 

Driven  in  by  the  cold  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  see  after- 
wards nothing  new  but  Chippy  and  a  Robin  hopping  all 
about  the  bird-table  —  my  first.  Hear  the  Purple  Finch 
warbling  about  among  the  near  pine  tops  long  and  loud . 


Aet.  33  341 

Two  young  Nuthatches  courting  —  the  little  girl  beg- 
ging to  be  fed  with  quivering  wings.  See  Chestnut- 
sides  pruning  himself  on  his  own  oak.  At  sunset 
a  glorious  duet  between  Wood  Thrushes,  apparently 
near. 

May  18,  Sunday. 

One  bright  May  morning  in  a  world  of  song. 

We  looked  out  early  to  see  all  the  uninvited  guests: 
a  Crow  eating  suet,  the  red  Squirrel  and  the  big  gray 
one  with  the  ostrich  feather  tail,  in  possession  of  the 
piazza,  and  a  Jay  in  my  oak  tree.  Later  the  legitimate 
mealers  arrive,  Nuthatches,  Chickadees  and  Indigo-bird, 
while  the  Oven-bird  eats  crumbs  in  the  garden  path. 
At  noon  two  Indigo-birds  fly  into  my  tree  together  and 
sing  and  dash  at  each  other,  but  the  old  bright  one 
doesn't  allow  the  new,  younger,  browner  one  to  land  on 
the  table. 

Get  out  at  five  o'clock  to  a  Robin-Thrush  concert. 
See  the  Wood  Thrush  two  or  three  times,  and  Chippy 
in  my  tree  and  eating  on  the  garden  path  with  the  In- 
digo-bird. My  first  big  brown  Hare  hops  about  under 
the  hemlocks. 

May  25. 

O  birds  that  warble  in  the  morning  sky, 

O  birds  that  warble  as  the  days  go  by, 

Sing  sweetly. 

What  dream  ye,  as  they  utter  forth  May  music  growing  with  the 

growing  light, 
Their  sweet  sun  worship. 

TENNYSON. 


342  1902 

Of  moonlight  nights  and  rosy  dawns 

And  a  nest  in  a  hawthorn  tree ; 

Of  the  little  mate  for  whom  I  wait 

Flying  across  the  sea. 

Through  storm  and  night,  as  sure  as  fate, 

Swift- winged  with  love  for  me. 

Whippoorwill  shouts  again  at  dawn.  Indigo-bird  sits 
on  the  nasturtium  box  and  chirps  loudly  for  his  break- 
fast. See  Black-and-white  Creeper,  Wood  Pewee,  both 
Nuthatches,  and  then  the  Chickadees.  One  goes  to  the 
little  house,  while  the  other  lands  three  times  on  the  nut 
dish  in  my  hand! ! !  the  only  time  any  bird  ever  did  it  but 
dear  lost  "  Father  Nuthatch."  At  breakfast  time  Mrs. 
Tanager  lands  in  my  oak  and  takes  wicking  in  her  beak 
from  a  twig;  then  sits  on  the  lower  piazza  rail  trying  to 
get  at  the  longer  strings  while  her  Scarlet  husband 
watches  her  from  the  crooked  pine.  Then  they  both 
come  together  in  my  oak. 

Then  Mrs.  Redstart  and  Mrs.  Black-throated  Green 
both  come  together  into  my  oak  and  pull  at  the  wicking, 
and  Mrs.  Redstart  hops  all  along  the  piazza  rail,  while 
Mrs.  Black-throated  Green  lands  on  my  feet  and  hops 
slowly  up  to  my  knees  as  I  lie  on  the  sofa,  and  then  sits 
for  a  few  moments  looking  fearlessly  at  me  with  her 
bright  eyes. 

See  also  Mr.  Redstart  —  Messrs.  Black-throated  Green 
in  great  numbers,  Pine  Warbler  and  Chestnut-sided 
Warblers,  two  Robins  come  into  my  tree,  and  Red-eyed 
Vireos  innumerable.  See  besides,  Blue  Jay  and  Swifts 
and  Chippy  feeding  on  the  path,  Towhee  on  the  sumach, 
Yellow- throated  Vireo  on  the  crooked  pine  and  Oven- 
bird  in  his  flight-song:  in  all  eighteen  kinds  of  birds, 


Aet.  33  343 

and  most  of  them  over  and  over  again,  but  no  Wood 
Thrushes,  who  sing  close  about  me,  invisible  now  that 
"  leaves  are  large  and  long."  Cedar  Waxwings  fly  over 
and  Goldfinches  constantly,  but  not  near  enough  to 
count.  Tanagers  come  back  a  dozen  times,  he  to  the 
mound,  crooked  pine,  oak  scrubs,  and  she  to  hemlock 
hedge,  sumachs,  my  tree,  and  wicking  upstairs  and 
down. 

June  Y. 

What  is  so  raw  as  a  day  in  June? 

Out  in  the  cold  wind  five  hours.  A  Bob  White  whis- 
tles at  dawn,  and  both  Chippies  and  a  very  Blue  Jay 
come  to  pick  up  the  crumbs  I  sprinkle  on  the  path 
before  breakfast.  See  the  Chestnut- sided  Warbler  at 
last,  and  Pine  and  Black-and-white  and  male  Black- 
throated  Greens.  Lots  of  little  pairs  rushing  through 
the  air,  constantly  chirping  and  calling.  Hear  the  faint 
warbling  of  a  Purple  Finch  and  the  constant,  sharp, 
sparkling  song  of  Indigo-birds.  See  Indigo-bird,  both 
Nuthatches,  Robins,  Swifts,  Vireos,  Oven-bird  in  the 
middle  of  his  flight-song,  and  Towhee  shouting  in  the 
mound  trees, — the  beauty!  A  rainy  afternoon,  with 
the  Robins  and  Thrushes  singing  through  it. 

They  love  their  mates  to  whom  they  sing,  or  else  the  songs  that 

meet 
The  morning  with  such  music  would  never  be  so  sweet. 

The  sweetest  broken  music  all  about. 

June  18. 

Yesterday  Paulina  saw  on  a  small  tree  a  group  of  six 
Chickadees,  all  apparently  grown.  Could  they  be  an 


344  1902 

early  brood  ?  And  to  have  "  A  "  wait  on  "  Q  "  my  pair  of 
Chickadees  come  constantly  to  the  table  today,  grabbing 
up  every  sort  of  eatable,  including  the  meal  worms, 
and  we  see  that  they  have  a  little  family  sitting  on  the 
mound  sumachs  being  fed,  just  like  their  parents,  only 
with  shorter  tails,  yellower  beak-fastenings,  squattier 
attitudes  and  more  whimpery  voices.  It  is  just  three 
weeks  and  one  day  since  the  date  given  for  their  nest- 
ing. Darling  Mrs.  Black-throated  Green  sits  on  the 
chair-back  close  to  me,  while  her  husband  and  brothers 
sing.  Saw  the  Wood  Thrush  again  singing  on  a  pine 
top.  See  my  first  Chipmunk  eating  very  cunningly  on 
the  garden  path. 

June  22,  Sunday. 

Beautiful  after  a  pouring  rain.  Hear  on  the  hillside 
for  the  first  time  a  Maryland  Yellowthroat,  while  a 
Chipmunk  sits  like  "the  Statue  and  the  Bust"  at  a 
corner  of  the  piazza.  The  Chickadees  made  a  day  nurs- 
ery for  their  babies  out  of  my  tree,  piazza  rail  and  bird- 
table,  driving  off  all  the  other  birds  they  dare  attack. 
The  smutty  little  parent  takes  twenty  worms  from  my 
hand,  and  one  baby  takes  his  first  independent  bite  of 
suet,  while  another  coughs  out  a  too  big  bit  of  nut, 
holds  it  firmly  between  his  little  blue  feet  and  devours 
it  in  a  grown-up  way.  One  of  the  female  Nuthatches 
eats  shyly  from  a  seed  dish  held  by  Bessie  and  one  lands 
again  on  the  whip  I  am  waving. 

June  23. 

In  the  pines  the  thrush  is  waking ; 
Lo,  yon  orient  hill  in  flames  ! 

ARNOLD. 


Aet.  33  345 

A  Thrush  sings  in  a  glorious  day.  Out  twelve  hours. 
Male  Nuthatch  comes  half  a  dozen  times  to  feed,  but  the 
two  females,  constantly  flying  at  each  other  and  being 
flown  at  by  the  parent  Chickadees,  who  have  their  little 
family  here  all  day.  "Smutty"  eats  constantly  from 
my  hand.  Squirrels,  red,  gray  and  striped,  use  my 
tree  as  goal  in  a  constant  game  of  hide-and-seek,  and  I 
see  on  the  path  below  Chippy  and  Blue  Jay,  Chippy 
and  Oven-bird,  Robin,  Oven-bird  and  Wood  Thrush. 

June  24:. 

Glorious  day,  with  the  Whippoorwill  loud  at  dawn. 
Smutty  Chickadee,  tamer  than  ever,  flies  constantly  to 
and  fro  from  my  hand,  as  I  lie  on  the  sofa  feeding  his 
babies  with  the  last  of  his  first  hundred  meal  worms,  or 
coaxing  for  still  one  more  by  sitting  on  the  piazza,  rail 
and  whistling  soft  "Phoebe;"  when  they  are  quite 
gone  he  sits  half  a  dozen  times  on  my  chair-back,  look- 
ing reproachfully,  while  one  of  his  babies  sits  on  the 
table  in  my  lap.  The  babies  feed  themselves  a  little. 
A  Goldfinch,  in  a  very  yellow  waistcoat  and  black  cap, 
sits  swinging  on  Paulina's  oak,  and  a  male  Redstart 
flies  into  my  tree.  See  the  Oven-bird  in  the  midst  of 
his  exquisite  flight-song  five  times,  the  first  at  high 
noon,  and  Indigo-bird,  and  Nuthatches,  and  Chippies, 
Black-throated  Greens,  Red-eyed  Vireos,  Swifts.  Hear 
the  loud  whistling  of  an  Oriole  on  the  hillside  for  a  long 
time,  but  the  Towhee  has  stopped  his  song  these  last 
few  days  and  Indigo  sings  less.  Smutty  tamer  than 
ever,  in  the  late  afternoon  over  the  new  relay  of  meal 
worms.  Once  a  baby  lands  with  him  on  my  hand. 
See  Pine  Warbler,  and  a  bird  that  looks  a  little  like 
him,  with  a  green  waistcoat??  Then  my  first  Baby 


34:6  1902 

Robin  comes  hopping  up  the  road,  turns  his  apology  of 
a  tail,  and  shows  his  mottled,  woolly  back,  and  flutters 
off  bravely.  (Out  twelve  hours.) 

July  5. 

His  ravishing  carol  rang 

From  the  topmost  twig  he  made  his  home. 

At  10.30  my  darling  little  Indigo  returns  to  his  canary 
seed,  but  poor  little  "  Dowager  "  Nuthatch  has  a  bloody 
wound  on  her  shoulder  to  prevent  too  much  rejoicing 
over  the  prodigal  mealer.  Indigo  sings  again.  See  our 
first  White-breasted  Nuthatch  (policeman  type)  after 
nearly  two  years,  in  the  pines,  my  tree  and  piazza  rail. 
Smutty  whistles  "Phoebe,"  as  he  sits  on  my  hand, 
and  a  Baby  Chickadee  lands  on  my  head!!! 

See  among  the  Oven-birds  one  "  discrowned,"  un- 
doubtedly Baby  Oven-bird.  Female  Tanager,  after  many 
weeks,  Wood  Thrushes  singing  in  the  crooked  pine,  one 
at  noon  and  one  at  sunset,  and  saw  besides  eight  other 
kinds  of  birds.  My  tree  a  perfect  "  day  nursery  "  now 
and  the  birds  that  aren't  feeding  babies  seem  to  be  sing- 
ing madrigals. 

July  30. 

Within  yon  milk-white  hawthorn  bush, 
Among  her  nestlings  sits  the  thrush ; 
Her  faithful  mate  will  share  her  toil, 
Or  wi'  his  song  her  cares  beguile. 

A  number  of  Thrushes  fly  up  from  the  ground,  and 
one  Baby  Thrush  sits  on  a  distant  pine  branch  and  then 
flies  straight  to  my  tree,  and  stays  quite  still,  eyeing  me, 
spotty  and  brown  and  solemn!! 


Aet.  33  347 

A  great  to-do  among  the  Thrushes  and  Robins  for  a 
couple  of  hours.  Saw  sixteen  other  kinds  of  familiar 
birds  and  one  unknown,  —  small,  dark  bird,  with  a 
large  light  moth  in  his  beak,  —  at  the  tip  of  the  crooked 
pine.  In  the  lovely  cool  sunset  a  great  alarum  of 
Thrushes,  and  a  little  sweet  Thrush  music,  but  no  flight- 
songs  these  many  days. 

October  28. 

The  woods  are  hushed,  their  music  is  no  more, 
The  leaf  is  dead,  the  yearning  past  away ; 
New  leaf,  new  life,  the  days  of  frost  are  o'er ; 
New  life,  new  love,  to  suit  the  newer  day. 
New  loves  are  sweet  as  those  that  went  before. 

TENNYSON. 

A  heavy  Sou'- Wester  after  a  howling  night.  Saw 
only  Chickadees  eating  at  the  "Granary,"  through 
closed  door  and  window,  and  could  not  bid  Smutty 
good-bye. 

Left  Manchester  at  half  past  eight  thro'  roads  filled 
almost  with  a  sunset  glow  from  oaks  and  beeches, 
maples  still  flaming  among  them.  I  personally  saw  this 
year,  as  well  as  last,  sixty-one  kinds  of  birds,  but  this 
year  forty  of  them  were  in  my  tree. 

The  Juncos  were  very  late  and  few,  only  singing  a 
little  one  day,  and  I  saw  no  Pine  Siskins  or  migrant 
Thrushes,  but  the  Chickadees,  especially  Smutty,  more 
than  made  up  for  everything. 

God  keep  all  the  little  bird  people  under  the  shadow 
of  His  wing. 


34:8  1902 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Tuesday  Morn. 
Darling  Twiney, 

We  are  getting  along  beautifully  —  beautifully ;  that 
is,  considering  it  is  a  gray  world  without  its  Sun,  Moon 
and  Stars. 

You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  it  is  having  that  dear 
old  Jim  purring  about.  He  came  yesterday  on  the  4.30 
and  went  up  with  Dickson  this  morning. 

He  "locked  up  "  last  night  and  tho'  he  had  never  be- 
fore fanned  out  a  lamp,  thought  he  would  be  able  to 
manage  somehow.  He  is  to  come  and  go  at  his  own 
free  will,  only  we  have  told  him  that,  like  the  fool  in 
Lear,  we  "go  to  bed  at  noon." 

Yes,  I  saw  Di  the  first  hour  last  evening,  and  then 
Mamma  left  Kitty  and  me  in  Jim's  care  while  she  saw 
Mr.  Lothrop,  who  came  up  to  see  how  we  were  getting 
along  and  to  inquire  for  Jenny  Paine.  Aren't  they 
kind  and  dear  and  human?  Apropos  of  human  —  we 
have  been  the  rather  ungracious  hostesses  of  a  lost  pet 
kitten  —  afraid  it  would  get  wonted  here,  afraid  Nancy 
would  get  fond  of  it.  Yesterday  outriders  —  some  on 
Peanuts  —  were  sent  out  to  all  the  neighbors,  in  vain. 
Then  Mary  Ann  heard  a  rumor  that  the  George  Lees 
had  lost  their  kitten  and  started  out  at  eight  o'clock  last 
evening  tenderly  carrying  the  fur  waif  and  escorted  by 
the  gallant  William.  Great  joy  all  round.  When  I 
thanked  Mary  Ann  —  and  she  is  the  human  link  of  my 
sentence,  with  her  droppings  of  warm  tears,  "Why," 
said  she,  "  I'd  walk  five  miles  any  time  to  take  anybody 
their  lost  cat;  I  know  how  they're  feeling." 


Aet.  33  ,  349 

Then  we  all  hugged  Sansge  and  she  spit  at  Mary  Ann! 

I  enclose  one  of  Mr.  Allen's  many  post  cards  because 
it  contains  more  than  a  date,  and  may  lighten  your 
guilty  conscience. 

Whom  do  you  think  he  went  to  see  in  his  shop?  And 
had  a  heart  to  heart  talk  with,  but  Kensit  himself! 

Think  of  my  speaking  of  that  mysterious  man  every 
time  I  write. 

Did  you  know  he  had  a  shop  and  really  sold  things 
when  not  in  personal  combat  with  the  ritualistic  foe? 

My  dear  love  to  Mrs.  Higginson  and  Ellen. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Thursday  Morn. 

But  then,  you  know,  darling,  you're  not  the  Fool  in 
Lear,  but  Kent — and  a  little  homesick  sometimes,  I 
hope,  for  your  domineering  charge? — who  is  none  so 
crazy  yet  that  she  seeks  an  open  heath  in  a  thunder- 
storm. 

And,  by  the  way,  this  is  our  first  rainy  day,  and  I  am 
in  the  sunparlor  with  Kitty.  Usually  she  stays  uncom- 
plainingly here  alone,  eats  her  breakfast,  plays  in  her 
paper  house  and  then  puts  herself  to  sleep  on  the  bed 
with  her  head  against  the  pillows.  When  her  'lations 
finally  turn  up,  instead  of  reproaches,  she  greets  them 
with  soft  purrings  and  paws  going  in  and  out  with 
ecstasy.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  as  good  an  account  of 
"Bullen,"  but,  along  with  his  prickly  pink  cheeks,  he 
has  developed  a  prickly  pink  temper,  so  I  have  put  the 
"  Admiral  "  in  with  little  "  Giant  Slay  Cat."  And  out 
of  doors  I  wish  I  could  see  anything  so  thrilling  as  a 
Vesper  Sparrow  and  a  Meadow-lark,  but  alas,  for  Ellen 
Emmons  and  her  ten  strikes!  it  never  was  so  birdless. 


350  1902 

Some  days  I  haven't  had  a  single  warbler  and  even  the 
Chippies  think  of  leaving  me  to  change  their  garish 
clothes  for  something  more  suitable  to  travel  in! 

We  complained  that  your  letter,  postmarked  ' '  Man- 
chester, 5.30  Monday  afternoon,"  didn't  reach  us  till 
the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  so  last  night  we  got  your 
Monday  letter  without  any  Manchester  postmark  at  all. 
Got  us  there!  But  what  do  you  think  of  their  sending 
me  a  letter  directed  "Allen's  Notion  Store,"  as  near 
enough  to  Alice  Weston  Smith  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses? Elinor  went  off  into  mischievous  laughter,  and 
seemed  to  think  they  had  builded  better  than  they 
knew. 

Congratulate  us  on  having  finished  "Sir  Harry 
Smith."  After  we  had  staggered  through  battle  after 
battle  Mamma  and  I  decided  that  our  genius  is  not 
purely  military. 

We  clung  to  such  items  as  this  about  his  horse:  "  On 
the  anniversary  of  the  Battle  of  Aliwal  when  there  was 
always  a  full-dress  dinner  at  the  General's  house,  some 
one  would  propose  Aliwal's  health,  and  the  beautiful 
creature  would  be  led  all  round  the  dinner- table,  glit- 
tering with  plate,  lights  and  uniforms,  and  he  would 
be  quite  quiet,  only  giving  a  snort  now  and  then,  tho' 
when  his  health  had  been  drunk  and  the  groom  had  led 
him  out  you  could  hear  him  on  the  gravel  prancing  and 
capering"  ("Just  like  Peanuts,"  murmured  Gamdge, 
much  emue\  and  when  Sir  Harry,  fearing  his  old  age 
might  be  unhappy,  shot  him  himself,  both  he  and  the 
faithful  groom  in  tears,  "and  that  night  Sir  Harry's 
place  was  vacant  at  dinner, "  Gamdge  and  I  had  to  stop 
for  a  while.  Gamdge  is  a  tender-hearted  person  after 
all.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  her  choking  over  the 


Aet.  33  351 

Indian  battles  the  horse  was  in,  and  when  she  got  to 
the  end  of  the  epitaph,  "He  was  22  years  old;  never 
was  sick  during  the  18  years  in  Sir  Harry's  possession. 
As  a  charger  he  was  incomparable;  gallant  and  docile; 
as  a  friend  he  was  affectionate  and  faithful,"  —  she 
broke  down  completely. 

On  the  other  hand  when  I  wanted  to  wake  her  up  at 
one  o'clock  last  night,  because  then  your  visit  would  be 
half  over,  she  seemed  to  think  sleep  was  more  than  sen- 
timent. Have  you  and  Ellen,  by  the  way,  read  "Love 
making — old  and  new,"  in  the  last  "Spectator  "?  It 
is  delightful. 

Doesn't  the  length  of  this  epistle  make  you  a  little  bit 
ashamed  of  your  shabby,  one-sheet  affairs?  It  is  my 
last,  however.  After  this  my  energies  must  be  spent  in 
getting  those  pink  paper-cotton  shirts  and  white  cot- 
ton-wool beards  with  which  Gamdge  and  I  are  going  to 
pop  over  the  piazza  rail  at  you  Monday  or  Tuesday 
night. 

What  is  home  without  a  Mauvaise? 

To  HER  SISTER. 

The  Bird  Cage.  —  A  Drama  in  Five  Acts. 
Act  V. 

Scene  V.  (An  untidy  room,  Mrs.  S.  soliloquizing.) 
Let  me  see  —  Do  the  married  pair  bathe  in  a  big  tub, 
and  which  is  little  Cock? 

(Enter  Katie  bearing  clean  trays.) 

Oh,  Nellie,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  I  took 
these  perches  from  (addressing  some  one  invisible). 


352  1902 

Don't  get  flurried  —  Grandmother  is  slow  but  sure  — 
I  shan't  give  that  dirty  Throstle  another  minute. 

There  (in  loud  tones  of  triumph),  we're  all  done, 
though  (in  a  more  doubtful  voice)  I  don't  know  where 
these  little  perches  go,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  food-dish 
on  the  hall  bureau. 

(Clock  strikes  eleven  outside.) 

(Curtain.) 

After  this,  what  need  of  an  invisible  cap  to  look 
in  upon  your  home? 

Meanwhile  the  Dominion  quietly  reposes  in  the  sun- 
parlor. 

I  am  not  weaned. 

Your 

NANNY  0. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

I  hoped  to  have  a  few  red  roses  to  make  a  little  glow 
of  welcome  in  your  study  when  you  arrived  —  but  alas, 
I  don't  know  whether  your  house  will  be  open  before- 
hand or  even  if  you  come  directly  to  Cambridge  on 
landing.  So  will  you  please  try  to  feel  that  the  roses 
are  there  to  say  what  I  can't  say  at  such  a  moment? 

Paulina  gets  back  from  a  ten  days'  visit  at  Lake 
Champlain  tomorrow,  and  very  soon  I  hope  we  shall 
have  you  here  and  those  old  discussions  on  High  Church 
and  Low  —  on  Pauline  and  Petrine  —  can  begin  again 
under  the  bright  Autumn  skies  and  colouring  leaves. 


Aet.  33  353 

Manchester  is  putting  on  her  prettiest  looks  to  greet 
you. 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Sunday,  September  7th. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

Tuesday,  September  9. 
My  darling  Ethel, 

This  is  just  to  give  you  a  pen-and-ink  hug  till  you 
come  within  closer  range. 

I  am  a  great  deal  better,  and  Paulina  is  home  from 
the  lake,  and  Jim  Storrow  is  with  us. 

There's  all  my  news  in  a  breath,  except  that  your 
being  safe  at  home  again  throws  over  our  shores  and 
wooded  hillsides  a  still  brighter  glory  —  the  light  that 

never  was  on  sea  or  land. 

Always  yours, 

NANNY. 


354  1902 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

November  10th,  1902.     Her  birthday. 

.  0  God,  who  art  the  unsearchable  abyss  of  peace,  the 
ineffable  sea  of  love,  the  fountain  of  blessings,  and  the 
bestower  of  affection;  who  sendst  peace  to  those  that 
receive  it;  open  to  us  this  day  the  Sea  of  Thy  Love,  and 
water  us  with  plenteous  streams  from  the  riches  of  Thy 
grace. 

Make  us  children  of  quietness  and  heirs  of  peace. 

Enkindle  in  us  the  fire  of  Thy  love,  strengthen  our 
weakness  by  Thy  power ;  bind  us  closely  to  Thee  and  to 
each  other  in  one  firm  and  indissoluble  bond  of  Unity. 
From  the  Syrian  Clementine  Liturgy  (Second  Century). 

Mr.  Nash  speaks  of  Christianity  as  the  power  to  be 
glad  against  all  odds. 

Mysticism  is  man's  insistence  that  he  should  see  the 

unseen  with  his  own  eyes. 

NASH. 


Aet.  34  355 

To  MR.  CHARLES  HOPKINSON. 

(Nov.  30)  Sunday. 
Dear,  dear  Mr.  Hopkinson, 

I  need  not  wish  you  joy,  need  I?  But  I  want  to  tell 
you  how  happy  Elinor's  happiness  has  made  us  all. 

It  seemed  to  me  this  morning  that  the  sun  hadn't 
shone  so  brightly  for  many  a  day.  And  we  thought  of 
you  two  at  Manchester,  and  your  welcome  into  the  warm 
heart  of  that  great  household,  and  the  world  seemed  a 
more  beautiful  place  to  live  in. 

Why,  Elinor  and  I  have  been  friends  since  we  were 
seven  years  old,  and  I  have  loved  her  better  every 
day. 

I  needn't  tell  you  what  she  is,  —  you  know,  —  but 
in  all  my  joys  and  sorrows,  and  still  more  in  all  the 
little  doings  of  every  day,  her  strong  affection  —  her 
tenderness  and  truth,  and  high  ideal  of  duty  —  have 
been  one  of  the  anchors  of  my  life  —  and  she  is  so 
pleasant! 

Indeed,  the  future  must  look  very  bright  to  you  — 
and  the  world  will  be  brighter  for  her  happiness.  She 
has  always  shared  her  best  and  now  we  feel  as  if  we 
had  all  tasted  of  the  great  cup  of  joy  that  God  has  put 
into  her  hands. 

It  is  all  so  strange  and  yet  so  natural.  I  feel  as  if 
our  friendship  —  yours  and  mine,  I  mean  —  which  be- 
gan yesterday,  had  somehow  got  roots  back  into  the 
past. 

Your  and  Elinor's 

Affectionate  old  friend, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


356  1902 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

(Dec.  27.) 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

I  can't  tell  you  how  much  Paulina  and  I  cared  about 
your  present.  I  think  you  must  know  what  it  means 
to  us  to  have  it.  And  apart  from  all  the  associations  it 
is  so  lovely  in  itself,  with  my  favorite  branch  and  bird 
life  come  to  brighten  winter. 

I  shall  have  it  hung  where  I  can  rest  my  eyes  on  it 
as  I  lie  in  bed. 

Christmas  time  is  always  so  full  of  Mr.  Brooks  — 
fuller  even  than  Easter  —  because  the  tree  at  Trinity, 
and  his  giving  out  the  presents,  is  one  of  my  clearest 
childish  recollections.  And  the  last  times  he  came  to 
see  me  were  on  December  28th,  ten  years  ago  tomorrow 
—  and  January  14th. 

The  Christmas  light  that  first  shone  on  those  that 
"sat  in  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death"  was  still 
with  us  all,  I  think,  when  he  left  us. 

Next  week  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  come  up  some 
morning? 

In  the  meanwhile  give  my  dear  love  to  your  mother 
and  believe  me, 

Always  and  always, 

Yours  with  true  affection, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


Aet.  34  357 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

WEARY. 

I  would  have  gone,  God  bade  me  stay ; 
I  would  have  worked,  God  bade  me  rest ; 
He  broke  my  will  from  day  to  day ; 
He  read  my  yearnings  unexpressed, 

And  said  me  nay. 

Now  I  would  stay,  God  bids  me  go ; 
Now  I  would  rest,  God  bids  me  work. 
He  breaks  my  heart  tossed  to  and  fro, 
My  soul  is  wrung  with  doubts  that  lurk 

And  vex  us  so  ! 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

Thou,  my  dear  heart,  no  more  I  see; 
Not  all  alone  I  wander  by ; 
For  Hope  and  Heart-break  walk  with  me  — 
Twin-children  they  of  Love's  good-bye. 
When  dim-eyed  Heart-break  weeps  the  loss 
Of  some  fair  nest  the  winds  let  fall, 
Hope  shows  me  boughs  that  make  the  cross 
Against  blue  sky,  high  over  all. 

I  said,  I  awoke;  after  some  more  sleepings  and  wak- 
ings I  shall  lie  on  this  mattress  sick,  then  dead,  and 
through  my  gay  entry  they  shall  carry  these  bones. 
Where  shah1  I  he  then?  I  lifted  my  head  and  beheld 
the  spotless  orange  light  and  the  morning  beaming 
up  from  the  dark  hills  into  the  wide  universe. 

From  Emerson's  Journal. 

I  go,  Lord,  when  Thou  sendest  me ; 
Day  after  day  I  plod  and  moil. 
But  Christ,  my  Lord,  when  will  it  be 
That  I  may  let  alone  my  toil 
And  rest  with  Thee  ? 


358  1903 

Let  not  him  that  seeketh  cease  from  his  search  until 
he  find,  and  when  he  finds  he  shall  wonder,  wondering 
he  shall  reach  the  Kingdom,  and  when  he  reaches  the 
Kingdom  he  shall  rest.  —  Saying  of  Jesus. 


Aet.  34  359 

To  MR.  ROBERT  TREAT  PAINE. 

(January  25.) 
Dear  Mr.  Paine, 

What  a  touching  tribute!  It  reminded  me  of  a  bit 
in  one  of  the  sermons,  ' '  In  his  own  circle,  in  the  city 
where  he  lives,  it  seems  as  if  he  were  more  powerful 
when  he  is  seen  no  more  upon  the  streets  than  when 
men  met  him  every  day.  There  has  been,  as  it  were, 
a  descent  of  his  spirit,  a  Pentecost  of  his  departed  pres- 
ence. 

"This  is  the  difference  of  men  —  those  whose  power 
stops  with  their  death  and  those  whose  power  really 
opens  its  true  richness  when  they  die,  and  the  final  test 
and  witness  of  spiritual  force  is  seen  in  the  ability  to 
cast  the  bodily  life  away  and  yet  continue  to  give  help 
and  courage  and  wisdom  to  those  who  see  us  no  longer; 
to  be  like  Christ,  the  helper  of  men's  souls  even  from 
beyond  the  grave." 

How  beautiful  it  all  was  on  Friday,  ' '  and  they  that 
turn  many  to  righteousness  as  the  stars  forever  and 
ever." 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
Sunday. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Wednesday  Noon. 

Well,  my  darling  Cinderella,  how  do  you  feel  so  far 
from  the  domestic  ashes?  And  do  you  pretend  that 
the  glass  slippers  "  don't  bind  you  anywhere  "? 

Your  letter  hasn't  come  yet,  but  then  we  shall  know 


360  1903 

just  how  and  where  you  eat  that  lunch  —  and  what 
birds  of  passage  you  saw  flying  north  —  and  who  met 
you. 

Why  didn't  we  have  you  telegraph,  or  were  we  look- 
ing long  at  a  quarter? 

u  Gray  Rose,"  very  busy  over  her  nest,  stops  to  send 
her  passionate  love.  Yesterday,  after  a  full  bath  in 
her  water  dish,  which  was  full  of  diluted  whiskey,  she 
sang  her  hymn.  Kitty  says,  "  Lady  Henry  Somerset 
must  know  about  this."  She  also  sends  love  to  her 

own  dear  Mauvaise. 

AUNTY  NAN. 


Aet.  34  361 

SUMMER  OF  1903.  —  BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 

If  a  bird's  nest  chance  to  be  before  thee  on  the  ground, 
or  before  thee  on  the  way  in  any  tree,  whether  there 
are  young  ones  or  eggs,  and  the  dam  sitting  upon  the 
young  or  upon  the  eggs,  thou  shalt  not  take  the  dam 
with  the  young,  but  shalt  in  any  wise  let  the  dam  go, 
that  it  may  be  well  with  thee  and  that  thou  mayest 
prolong  thy  days.  —  DEUTERONOMY,  xxii,  6,  7. 

THE   FIRST   SPRING   DAY. 

I  wonder  if  the  sap  is  stirring  yet, 
If  wintry  birds  are  dreaming  of  a  mate, 
If  frozen  snowdrops  feel  as  yet  the  sun, 
And  crocus  fires  are  kindling  one  by  one. 

Sing,  Robin,  sing. 

I  still  am  sore  in  doubt  concerning  Spring ; 
The  sap  will  surely  quicken  soon  or  late, 
The  tardiest  bird  will  twitter  to  a  mate, 
So  Spring  must  dawn  again,  with  warmth  and  bloom, 
Or  in  this  world  or  in  the  world  to  come. 

Sing,  voice  of  Spring, 
Till  I  too  blossom  and  rejoice  and  sing. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

And  the  hills  shall  break  forth  before  you  into  singing. 

In  the  limpid  days  of  Spring, 

Elder  boughs  were  budding  yet, 

Oaken  boughs  looked  wintry  still ; 

But  primrose  and  veined  violet 

In  the  moss-ful  turf  were  set ; 

While  meeting  birds  made  haste  to  sing 

And  build  with  right  good  will. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 


362  1903 

May  Day.     (The  Month  of  Music.) 

Opens  cold  and  windy.  Hear  before  breakfast  the 
Towhee  loud  on  the  hillside  and  see  Black-and-white 
Warbler.  Get  out  after  breakfast  for  seven  and  a  half 
hours.  A  Chickadee  flies  into  my  tree,  hops  on  to  the 
bird-table  and  eats  from  his  own  familiar  dish  —  a  little 
later  comes  fluttering  over  to  me,  sits  on  my  finger 
and  takes  a  meal-worm  —  my  own  Smutty.  Comes 
three  times  more  to  my  hand  —  the  darling.  We 
hear  what  we  think  is  the  Pine  Warbler,  the  rich  war- 
bling of  a  Purple  Finch,  some  unknown  calls,  and  a 
loud,  squeaking  note  from  the  mound.  See  my  Chippy 
in  my  tree.  Paulina  takes  a  bird-walk  in  the  afternoon 
and  sees  three  Purple  Finches,  two  males  and  a  female, 
and  one  Black-throated  Green  Warbler  singing.  At 
five  o'clock  a  dear  little  Black- throated  Green  comes  and 
sits  about  on  the  bare  twigs  of  my  oaks  so  that  I  may 
see  him  too.  Less  singing  today. 

Or  amorous  birds  perched  on  the  young  green  spray. 

SHELLEY. 

May  20. 

Exquisite  and  cooler.  Showery  afternoon.  Out  ten 
hours.  Hear  early  a  loud  unfamiliar  chirp  and  two 
new  songs,  one  like  a  flat  Purple  Finch  and  the  other  of 
the  whistling  kind.  A  glorious  Magnolia  Warbler  flies 
from  Paulina's  oak  to  mine,  and  flies  about  there  at 
great  length  with  little  Parula;  then  we  see  at  once 
the  first  Blackpoll  and  the  first  Blackburnian  and  four 
familiar  warblers  everywhere,  Yellow-throated  Vireos, 
Goldfinches  in  the  crooked  pine  again  and  again.  Bal- 
timore Oriole  (in  the  King-bird's  oak),  a  Grackle  flying 


Aet.  34  363 

over,  a  bird  hopping  up  the  rock  beyond  the  barberry 
tangle  smaller  than  Thrush  and  larger  than  Oven-bird, 
brownish,  unstreaked  back,  without  wing-bars,  and 
vaguely  spottish  waistcoat.  See  twenty-three  kinds  of 
birds  in  all. 

Blackpoll  and  Magnolia  appear  again  and  again. 
Hear  the  Pewee's  voice  for  the  first  time  this  year. 
Chestnut-sides  pulls  at  the  wicking  below.  Smutty  ex- 
amines the  little  green  bird-house.  Sup  out  among  the 
mosquitoes  to  the  music  of  Wood  Thrushes  and  distant 
Whippoorwills.  See  an  Oven-bird's  flight-song. 

In  russet  she  and  he  in  yellow, 
Singing  ever  clear  and  mellow, 
Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  you  sweet  you. 

KINGSLEY. 

May  27. 

Waked,  as  usual,  by  Downy  knocking  on  the  crooked 
pine,  but  the  dawn  chorus  is  less  full  this  last  week. 
Yesterday  little  Phoebe  Chickadee  gathered  wicking 
while  Smutty  sat  on  the  little  bird-house  porch  and 
whistled  softly  to  her.  Today  they  seem  indifferent. 
Black-throated  Green  landed  on  the  bird-table.  Saw  the 
dear  Yellow- throated  Vireo  again;  Blue  Jay,  Flicker 
and  the  Goldfinches,  who  come  three  times  into  my  tree, 
the  sumachs,  etc.,  and  talk  sweetly  to  each  other.  Be- 
sides see  eleven  kinds  of  familiar  birds,  but  not  my 
Indigo  today,  usually  so  faithful. 

June  22. 

Pouring  at  dawn  after  a  pouring  night.  Alas!  my 
little  Dickories!  Hear  clamourous  baby  voices  and  see 


364  1903 

my  first  young  Chickadees  being  fed  in  the  oak  scrub  by 
their  dripping  father.  Later  they  are  on  my  tree  con- 
stantly, not  so  short-tailed  as  last  year,  but  round,  with 
stubby  tails  and  blue  boots.  It  clears  in  the  afternoon 
and  I  get  out  for  three  hours.  See  a  baby  Red  Squirrel 
in  my  tree  (with  a  round  head  and  hardly  any  ears),  the 
baby  Chippies  and  their  parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Indigo, 
and  Oven-bird,  and  Goldfinches  and  Robins.  Hear  a 
Catbird's  mew.  Lots  of  flight-songs  from  the  Teacher 
bird!! 

June  25. 

Opens  rainy  after  a  rainy  night.  Surf  high  and  "the 
noise  as  of  a  hidden  brook  in  the  leafy  month  of  June  " 
like  the  noise  of  the  water  floods!  Thrushes  more  than 
ever  and  later  a  Purple  Finch  sings  of  the  human  side  of 
joy.  A  male  Humming-bird  comes  squeaking  into  the 
window  nasturtiums  and  comes  again.  My  first  Cat- 
bird flits  about  the  oak  scrub  mewing  and  then  sits  in 
my  tree  and  returns  to  it  later;  apparently  longs  to 
eat  on  path,  but  doesn't,  that  I  see.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  In- 
digo come  and  Oven-bird,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Black-throated 
Green  and  les  families  Chickadee  and  Chippy;  one  of 
the  latter  hops  on  my  piazza  floor,  at  length.  Kept 
indoors  all  the  damp  day.  It  tries  to  clear  at  sunset. 

July  18. 

Beneath  the  safety  of  her  wings. 

SHELLEY. 

Moved  in  before  lunch  and  saw  little.  The  Chestnut- 
sided  Warbler  family  —  young  and  old  —  hop  in  the 
barberry  tangle.  The  first  Baby  Oven-bird  feeds  on 


Aet.  34  365 

the  path  with  his  mother.  (Is  it  the  thought  of  this 
little  group  that  later  makes  the  male  ' '  at  heaven's 
gate  sing?  ") 

See  besides  Song-sparrow  on  the  path  Indigo-bird,  the 
1  'three  regular  mealers,"  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hummer, 
Black-and-white  Creeper,  Swifts  and  Goldfinches,  and 
the  offish  Nuthatches.  Thrushes  glorious. 

Sept.  23. 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 

Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, 

The  desert  and  illimitable  air, 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

A  deep  orange  sunrise  ushers  in  another  glorious 
day.  Bluebirds  in  the  distance  call,  "Farewell,  fare- 
well." Two  Nuthatches,  time  after  time,  and  four  or 
five  Chickadees  (besides  Smutty)  feed  from  the  dish 
held  for  them .  See  female  Downy  Flicker, ' '  Policeman  " 
Robins,  and  Cedar  Waxwings,  immature  Blackpolls, 
and  then,  flying  low  over  the  pine  tops  from  north  to 
south  and  the  sea,  a  great  V  of  Canada  Geese,  with 
their  short  tails  and  long  necks  plainly  seen  as  never 
before.  Watch  them  till  they  fade  into  the  distance. 

Sept.  25. 

Gloriously  bright  and  cold  —  forty-four  degrees  at 
seven  o'clock.  Hear  the  farewell  call  of  distant  Blue- 
birds and  then  the  Towhees  shout  again  on  the  hillside, 
—  not  heard  since  June. 

Female  Humming-bird  returns  to  the  nasturtiums 
and — strange  juxtaposition  —  the  first  Golden-crowned 
Kinglet  of  the  year  appears  in  the  hemlock  hedge.  See 


366  1903 

little  Parula  Warbler  in  my  tree,  Pine  Warbler  (singing), 
young  Black-throated  Greens  (trying  to  sing),  immature 
Blackpolls,  and  what  was,  I  think,  immature  Myrtle. 
See  the  Winter  Trio,  the  '  *  Policeman  "  who  comes  into 
the  tree  and  up  the  "  tuft,"  but  didn't  quite  venture  on- 
to the  bird-table  with  me  on  the  piazza;  one  solitary 
Goose,  Goldfinches  and  Cedar  Waxwings,  Robins,  old 
and  young  (one  sings  his  Spring  song),  a  Song-sparrow 
feeding  repeatedly  on  the  path  (where  of  late  I  have 
had  no  mealers  but  the  constant  Chipmunks  and  an 
occasional  Jay),  male  Purple  Finch  in  the  crooked 
pine,  and  last  of  all,  also  in  the  crooked  pine,  a  Spar- 
row-hawk eyeing  me  malignly  over  his  shoulder  with 
his  round,  hooked  face.  Eighteen  kinds  in  all.  (Out 
ten  hours,  till  even  the  "Greedy  Guthatches  "  had  eaten 
their  very  last  supper.) 

Oct.  1. 

"  Or,  as  when  a  bird  hath  flown  through  the  air,  there 
is  no  token  of  her  way  to  be  found,  but  the  light  air, 
being  beaten  with  the  stroke  of  her  wings  and  parted 
with  the  violent  noise  and  motion  of  them,  is  passed 
through,  and  therein  afterwards  no  sign  where  she 
went  is  to  be  found." 

Not  so  bright,  but  ten  degrees  warmer.  Abed  till 
noon  when  I  got  out  for  four  and  a  half  hours.  Early 
heard  a  Phoebe  calling  outside  and  a  half -familiar  little 
Warbler  song  on  the  Black-and-white  model,  also  Pine 
Warblers  trilling,  whom  later  I  saw.  A  confused 
mass  of  Chickadees,  Red-breasted  Nuthatches,  and  "Po- 
licemen "  flutter  constantly  in  and  out  of  the  nasturtium 
window.  Out,  I  see  Robins  everywhere,  and  then  in 


Aet.  34  36T 

my  tree,  staring  at  me  out  of  his  white-rimmed  spec- 
tacles, the  first  Ruby-crowned  Kinglet,  an  uncrowned 
monarch  here  ten  days  before  schedule  time! 

Oct.  3. 

Cooler  and  gloriously  bright.  Lots  of  Myrtle  Warblers 
chase  one  another  from  tree  to  tree,  chirping  like  dull 
bells.  A  Golden-crowned  Kinglet  comes  into  my  tree, 
and  a  Brown  Creeper  creeps  sighing  up  a  mound  pine; 
then,  singing  his  sweet  Robiny  song  all  about  from  pine 
to  pine,  and  from  hemlock  hedge  to  my  tree,  the  Blue- 
headed  Vireo  on  the  return  trip.  See  an  Unpurple 
Finch  on  the  oak  scrub,  Robins  hanging  in  the  bar- 
berry twigs  eating  the  ripe  fruit,  and  Pine  Warblers, 
trilling,  and  of  course  the  Winter  Trio  and  the  ' '  Police- 
man." 

Oct.  4,  Sunday. 

A  most  beautiful  sunrise  of  deep  purple  and  fiery 
pink  and  above  it  a  single  star;  then  another  bright, 
cold  day.  At  breakfast  time  hear  the  Song-sparrows 
singing  sweetly  from  the  lower  fields,  not  heard  for 
months,  and  the  Pine  Warblers  trilling  all  about  unseen. 

A  simple  sparrow  singing  from  a  reed. 

Oct.  6. 

Warm  and  mistily  bright  after  a  rainy  night.  A 
Hermit  Thrush,  our  first  this  year,  sits  spottily  in  the 
hemlock  hedge,  and  then  flies  into  a  mound  pine  where 
he  exhibits  his  rufous  tail! !  (called  by  Adirondack  wood- 
cutters the  "  Swamp  Angel ").  Two  Bluebirds,  calling, 
"Farewell,  farewell,"  fly  high  over,  and  the  dear  Blue- 


368  1903 

headed  Vireo,  first  singing  about  unseen,  conies  into 
my  tree  and  hops  quietly  about,  eyeing  me  through  his 
white  spectacles. 

Oct.  18. 

Are  not  five  sparrows  sold  for  two  farthings  and  not 
one  of  them  is  forgotten  before  God?  —  ST.  LUKE,  xii,  6. 

It  has  been  a  hard  summer  on  birds,  the  cold,  wet 
June  causing  great  mortality  among  the  nestlings, 
especially  among  Swallows  and  Purple  Martins,  it  is 
thought. 

Oct.  18. 

My  last  Sunday  with  my  birds.  ("Who  knoweth  if 
he  will  return  and  repent  and  leave  a  blessing  behind 
even  a  meat  offering  and  a  drink  offering?  ") 

The  day  opens  grim  and  gray  after  a  raining,  howl- 
ing night.  Grows  brightly  blue,  with  beautiful  clouds, 
by  ten  o'clock  when  I  get  out.  The  oaks  on  the  hillside 
are  changed  and  the  fields  beyond  stretch  like  a  Persian 
rug  to  the  sea,  which  shines  like  a  white  pearl. 

Oct.  21. 

A  beautiful  early  morning.  Get  out  to  breakfast  on 
the  piazza,  and  to  spend  two  last  hours  with  my  birds. 
All  the  Red-breasted  Nuthatches  are  there  and  all  the 
Chickadees  (my  Smutty,  of  course,  flies  to  my  hand), 
both  Policemen,  both  Downies,  to  say  nothing  of  Squir- 
rels, gray,  red  and  striped.  See  five  Blue  Jays  flying 
over,  calling,  "Farewell,"  and  a  small  flock  of  Cedar 
Waxwings.  Hear  Jays,  Kinglets,  and  a  chirp  that 
might  have  been  Juncos  or  Myrtle  Warblers. 


Aet.  34  369 

Drive  to  the  10.24  train  under  a  snowy-looking  sky 
and  through  the  gorgeous  foliage,  especially  the  beeches 
and  oaks,  the  latter  every  shade  to  blood-red. 

Farewell  Manchester  and  all  my  Dickories,  and  fare- 
well my  little  Smutty  above  all. 

And  still  she  loves  the  bird,  and  still  must  love ; 
That  friendship  lasts  tho'  fellowship  is  broken. 


370  1903 

To  MRS.  CHARLES  HOPKINSON. 

MANCHESTER,  May  27th. 
Dearest  Nelinor, 

So  you  think  all  your  old  friends  have  forgotten  you? 
Not  a  bit  of  it,  but,  like  the  parrot,  they  take  it  out  in 
thinking. 

Lou  Wadsworth  was  here  the  other  day  and  we  found 
she  felt  as  we  did.  What  does  a  romantic  young 
woman,  spending  her  honeymoon  in  Italy,  have  to  do 
with  what  Mrs.  Bell  calls  "rancid  facts"?  However, 
here  is  Mrs.  Yeats-Brown's  letter  and  we  are  sorry  you 
missed  seeing  Porto  Fino,  to  say  nothing  of  that  friendly 
little  thing  herself  and  the  kind  old  bear  of  a  Monte. 
Isn't  it  English  to  have  one's  little  boys  in  every  corner 
of  the  globe?  Our  old  nurse,  Jane,  sent  us  a  letter  from 
her  nephew  of  thirteen,  who  has  just  been  left  by  his 
father  in  Johannesburg,  where  he  holds  a  position  as 
secretary  in  a  mine! 

To  come  nearer  home  —  did  Bella  tell  you  that  Aunt 
Florence  brought  Paulina  and  me  each  a  beautiful 
opal  from  Hungary  which  we  wear  in  rings,  regard- 
less of  bad  luck? 

We  are  getting  indignantly  homesick  for  a  sight  of 
your  wandering  sister  Frances,  but  Bella  is  a  good  girl 
and  comes  over  often,  and  we  wonder  which  has  the 
redder  face  from  wind  and  sun.  Paulina  says  we  have 
both  crossed  the  "Rubicund" — which  is  a  new  joke; 
she  also  says  that  "some  of  our  standing  jokes  have 
stood  so  long  that  they  have  flat-foot." 

Ethel  was  here  last  night  and  Ellen  last  week,  and  I 
took  supper  downstairs  with  each  of  them  and  had  an 
old-fashioned,  giggling  time.  Next  winter,  when  you 


Aet.  34  371 

and  Charley  come  in  from  your  own  Home  to  drink  tea 
with  us,  perhaps  it  will  be  downstairs,  as  it  used  to  be 
when  we  were  younger. 

What  else  can  I  tell  you  about  our  uneventful  life? 
except  that  we  are  reading  the  still  more  uneventful 
life  of  Aunt  Charlotte  Yonge  with  chortlings  of  joy. 

We  are  seeing  a  lot  of  Mrs.  Higginson,  which  is  a 
great  joy  after  the  winter's  fast. 

Remember  me  to  your  "  husband."    We  think  of  you 

both  daily. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Friday  Morning. 
Dearest  Paulina, 

You  have  probably  heard  of  Mr.  John  Russell's 
death?  He  died  quietly  Wednesday  at  noon,  but 
Mamma  didn't  tell  me  till  yesterday. 

It  makes  the  world  seem  emptier  to  have  that  friendly 
voice  hushed,  and  that  dear  person  —  so  brilliant  and 
full  of  sentiment,  so  versatile  and  independent  —  no 
longer  among  us. 

It  is  like  losing  a  bit  of  our  past  —  almost  a  bit  of 
Papa,  whom  he  always  recalled  a  little,  by  that  old- 
fashioned  courtesy  of  manner. 

But  he  has  fought  a  good  fight  and  earned  the  rest 
he  must  often  have  wearied  for. 

Isn't  it  beautiful  to  think  that  he  had  these  last  two 
years  at  home  among  quiet  fields? 

Did  you  see  in  the  papers  that  he  always  kept  his  old 
horses  till  their  death,  and  had  nineteen  buried  under  a 


372  1903 

big  oak?  How  he  used  to  laugh  at  the  amount  of 
pumpkin  pie  he  had  had  to  eat  at  the  Agricultural 
meetings. 

Ah,  well. 

You  seem  very  suspicious  about  my  health.  I  have 
kept  a  shade  better,  on  the  whole,  than  when  you  left 
—  and  have  had  two  good  afternoons. 

Your  oldest  admirer, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  MRS.  CHARLES  HOPKINSON. 

(Nov.  4.) 
Dear  Elinor, 

Think  of  Mamma's  seeing  you  sitting  on  a  box  at 
poor  Ropes's  little  shop  and  never  asking  you  how  you 
fared  with  servants!  I  am  afraid  the  small  Swedish 
sister  of  Helen's  parlor-maid  (which  sounds  like  a  Ger- 
man exercise)  was  altogether  too  young  and  inexpe- 
rienced to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment  — tho'  our  Sophie 
was  eager  to  run  across  on  her  days  out  and  show  her 
how. 

But  I've  no  doubt  you'll  fall  on  your  feet  somehow, 
with  a  treasure  under  your  arm. 

Tell  Charles  we  expect  him  to  drop  in  constantly  this 
winter,  like  the  old  friend  he  is  by  brevet. 

It  was  dear  to  see  you  Monday.  You  don't  know  how 
my  heart  thrills  at  thought  of  that  new  nest  across  the 
street  and  the  yellow  beak  that  is  so  soon  to  poke  up 

above  the  rim. 

Your  bird  fancier, 

NANNY. 
Wednesday. 


Aet.  35  373 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

New  Year  met  me  somewhat  sad, 
Old  year  leaves  me  tired  ; 
Yet  farther  on  my  road  today, 
God  willing,  farther  on  my  way. 

God  strengthen  me  to  be  myself 
That  heaviest  weight  of  all  to  bear. 

St.  Chrysostom  on  his  deathbed  exclaimed,  "Thank 
God  for  everything." 

Galileo  says,  "  We  think  God's  thoughts  after  Him." 

I  find  the  gayest  castles  in  the  air  that  were  ever 
piled  far  better  for  comfort  and  for  use  than  the  dun- 
geons in  the  air  that  are  daily  dug  and  caverned  out  by 
grumbling,  discontented  people.  Power  dwells  with 
cheerfulness. 

Love  the  day.  Do  not  leave  the  sky  out  of  your 
landscape. 

If  we  meet  no  gods  it  is  because  we  harbor  none. 
He  only  is  rightly  immortal  to  whom  all  things  are  im- 
mortal. The  genius  of  life  is  friendly  to  the  noble,  and 
in  the  dark  brings  them  friends  from  far.  Fear  God, 
and  where  you  go  men  shall  think  they  walk  in  hal- 
lowed cathedrals. 

You  shall  not  wish  for  death  out  of  pusillanimity. 
The  weight  of  the  universe  is  pressed  down  on  the 
shoulders  of  each  moral  agent  to  hold  him  to  his  task. 
The  only  path  of  escape  known  in  all  the  worlds  of  God 
is  performance.  You  must  do  your  work  before  you 
shall  be  released.  And  so  I  think  that  the  last  lesson 


374  1904 

of  life,  the  choral  song,  which  rises  from  all  elements,  is 
a  voluntary  obedience,  a  necessitated  freedom. 

EMERSON. 

On  the  birth  of  a  friend's  child. 

He  shall  feed  His  flock  like  a  shepherd.  He  shall 
gather  the  lambs  in  His  arms  and  carry  them  in  His 
bosom  and  shall  gently  lead  those  that  are  with  young. 

Accept  the  obligation  laid  on  thee  : 
To  worthily  defend  the  trust  of  trust, 

Life  from  the  ever  living. 

BROWNING. 

Out  of  the  deep,  my  child,  out  of  the  deep ; 
From  that  true  world,  within  the  world  we  see, 
Whereof  our  world  is  but  the  bounding  shore. 
Live  and  be  happy  in  thyself,  and  serve 
This  mortal  race,  thy  kin,  so  well  that  men 
May  bless  thee  as  we  bless  thee,  O  young  life, 
Breaking  with  laughter  from  the  dark. 

Jesus  saith,  "  Wherever  there  are  two  they  are  not 
without  God,  and  wherever  there  is  one  I  say  that  I  am 
with  him.  Raise  the  stone  and  there  thou  shalt  find 
me.  Cleave  the  wood  and  there  am  I." 

On  the  anniversary  of  Mrs.  Paine's  death. 

March  9,  1904. 

Faithful:  "I  had  sunshine  all  the  rest  of  the  way 
through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death." 

Look  for  your  Shepherd  and  He  shall  give  you  ever- 
lasting rest,  for  He  is  nigh  at  hand.  Be  ready  to  the 


Aet.  35  375 

•reward  of  the  Kingdom,  for  the  everlasting  light  shall 
shine  upon  you  for  evermore. 

Arise  up,  and  stand  and  behold  the  number  of  those 
that  be  sealed  in  the  Lord,  which  are  departed  from  the 
shadow  of  the  world  and  received  glorious  garments  of 
the  Lord. 

These  be  they  that  have  put  off  the  mortal  clothing 
and  put  on  the  immortal,  and  have  confessed  the  name 
of  God.  Now  are  they  crowned  and  receive  palms. 

II  ESDRAS. 

And  wakes  once  more  the  sense  of  tears.  The  sad- 
ness at  the  Heart  of  things. 

Reproving  thankless  man  who  fears 

To  journey  on  a  few  lone  years. 

Thou,  who  didst  sit  on  Jacob's  well 

The  weary  hour  of  noon, 

The  languid  pulses  Thou  canst  tell, 

The  nerveless  spirit  tune  ; 

Thou,  from  whose  Cross  in  anguish  burst 

The  cry  that  owned  Thy  dying  thirst, 

From  darkness  and  from  dreariness 

We  ask  not  full  repose. 

Only  be  Thou  at  hand  to  bless 

Our  trial  hour  of  woes. 

Behold  how  green  this  Valley  of  Humiliation  is;  also 
how  beautiful  with  Lilies. 

Besides  here  a  man  shall  be  free  from  noise  and  hur- 
rying of  this  life. 

All  states  are  full  of  noise  and  confusion,  only  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation  is  that  empty  and  solitary  place. 

Here  a  man  shall  not  be  so  let  and  hindered  in  his 
contemplation  as  in  other  places  he  is  apt  to  be. 


376  1904 

This  is  a  valley  that  nobody  walks  in  but  those  that 
love  a  Pilgrim's  life.  And  though  Christian  had  the 
hard  hap  to  meet  with  Apollyon,  yet  I  must  tell  you 
that  in  former  times  men  have  met  with  Angels  here, 
have  found  Pearls  here,  and  have  in  this  place  found 
the  words  of  Life. 

That  life  is  not  an  idle  ore, 
But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipt  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 
And  battered  with  the  shocks  of  doom, 

To  shape  and  use. 

TENNYSON. 

That  which  thou  dost  not  understand  when  thou  read- 
est  thou  shalt  understand  in  the  day  of  thy  visitation. 
For  there  are  many  secrets  of  religion  which  are  not 
perceived  till  they  be  felt,  and  are  not  felt  but  in  the  day 
of  a  great  calamity.  —  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 

Ducunt  volentem  fata,  nolentem  trahunt. 

E.  L.  P. 

The  good  stars  in  your  horoscope  made  you  of  spirit, 
fire  and  dew. 

A  heart  at  leisure  from  itself 
To  soothe  and  sympathize. 

Hearts  training  in  their  low  abode, 

Daily  to  lose  themselves  in  hopes  to  find  their  God. 

That  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends. 


Aet.  35  377 

And  I  will  gladly  spend  and  be  spent  for  you. 

E.  S.  H. 

Her  heart  sat  silent  through  the  noise 
And  concourse  of  the  street ; 
There  was  no  hurry  in  her  hands, 
No  hurry  in  her  feet. 
There  was  no  bliss  drew  nigh  to  her 
That  she  might  run  to  greet. 

I.  A.  H. 

Not  a  thought,  a  touch, 

But  pure  as  lines  of  green  that  streak  the  white 

Of  the  first  snowdrop's  inner  leaves. 

Sarah  Whitman. 

What  other  words,  we  may  almost  ask,  are  memor- 
able and  worthy  to  be  repeated  than  those  which  love 
has  inspired?  It  is  wonderful.  It  is  wonderful  that 
they  were  ever  uttered.  They  are  few  and  rare  indeed, 
but  like  a  strain  of  music  they  are  necessarily  repeated 
and  modulated  by  the  memory.  We  should  not  dare 
to  repeat  these  now  aloud.  We  are  not  competent 
to  hear  them  at  all  times.  The  friend  asks  no  return 
but  that  his  friend  will  religiously  accept  and  wear  and 
not  disgrace  his  apotheosis  of  him.  They  are  kind  to 
each  other's  dreams.  Confucius  said,  "  Never  contract 
friendship  with  a  man  who  is  not  better  than  thyself." 
It  is  the  merit  and  preservation  of  friendship  that  it 
takes  place  on  a  level  higher  than  the  actual  characters 
of  the  parties  would  seem  to  warrant.  It  is  an  exercise 
of  the  purest  imagination,  the  rarest  faith,  and  the 


378  1904 

friend  responds  silently  through  his  nature  and  life,  and 
treats  his  friend  with  the  same  divine  courtesy. 

Let  our  intercourse  be  entirely  above  ourselves  and 
draw  us  up  to  it. 

The  language  of  friendship  is  not  words,  but  mean- 
ings. It  is  one  proof  of  a  man's  fitness  for  friendship 
that  he  is  able  to  do  without  that  which  is  cheap  and 
passionate.  This  is  a  plant  which  thrives  best  in  a  tem- 
perate zone,  where  summer  and  winter  alternate  with 
one  another.  Friends  will  meet  without  any  outcry, 
and  part  without  loud  sorrow.  Their  relation  implies 
such  qualities  as  the  warrior  prizes;  for  it  takes  a  valor 
to  open  the  hearts  of  men  as  well  as  the  gates  of  cas- 
tles. It  is  not  an  idle  sympathy  and  mutual  consolation 
merely,  but  a  heroic  sympathy  of  aspiration  and  en- 
deavor. 

There  are  some  things  which  a  man  never  speaks  of 
which  are  much  finer  kept  silent  about.  To  the  high- 
est communications  we  only  lend  a  silent  ear.  Our 
finest  relations  are  not  simply  kept  silent  about,  but 
buried  under  a  positive  depth  of  silence  never  to  be 
revealed.  For  human  intercourse  the  tragedy  begins, 
not  when  there  is  misunderstanding  about  words,  but 
when  silence  is  not  understood. 

Surely,  my  friend  shall  forever  be  my  friend  and  re- 
flect a  ray  of  God  to  me,  and  time  shall  foster  and  adorn 
and  consecrate  our  friendship  no  less  than  the  ruins  of 
temples. 

As  I  love  nature,  as  I  love  singing  birds  and  gleam- 
ing stubble  and  flowing  rivers  and  morning  and  evening 
and  summer  and  winter  I  love  thee,  my  friend. 

THOREAU. 


Aet.   35  379 

MANCHESTER,  May,  1904. 

It  is  so  with  the  human  relations  that  rest  on  deep 
emotional  sympathy  of  affection;  every  new  day  and 
night  of  joy  and  sorrow  is  a  new  ground,  a  new  conse- 
cration for  the  love  that  is  nourished  by  memories  as 
well  as  hopes.  The  love  to  which  perpetual  repetition 
is  not  a  weariness,  but  a  want  to  which  a  separated  joy 

is  the  beginning  of  pain. 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 

Mrs.  Whitman's  Death. 

For  I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered,  and  the  time  of  my 
departure  is  at  hand.  I  have  fought  the  good  fight.  I 
have  finished  my  course.  I  have  kept  the  Faith.  Now, 
therefore,  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  rejoicing 
which  the  Lord,  the  righteous  judge,  shall  give  me  at 
that  day. 

When  frail  nature  can  no  more, 
Then  the  Spirit  strikes  the  hour ; 
My  servant  Death,  with  solving  rite, 
Pours  finite  into  infinite. 

Dear  thought  of  God  which  God  will  still  think  on. 
And  they  shall  be  as  when  a  standard  bearer  fainteth. 

She  met  everybody  in  human  sympathy,  but  of  sin 
seemed  to  take  no  cognizance  except  in  compassion. 

The  sick  in  soul  touch  her  soul  and  are  well  again; 
the  discouraged  find  new  bravery;  the  yielding  souls 
are  clad  anew  with  firmness;  the  frivolous  grow  serious; 
the  mean  are  stung  or  tempted  into  generosity,  and  sin- 


380  1904 

ners  hate  their  sin  and  crave  a  better  life.  Oh,  there  are 
such  men  and  women  in  the  world.  The  world  finds 
them  out,  and  souls  half  conscious  of  disease  creep  to 
their  doors.  Friends  bring  their  friends  into  the  pres- 
ence of  these  healing  lives,  as  of  old  the  men  of  Jerusa- 
lem brought  forth  the  sick  into  the  streets  and  laid 
them  on  beds,  that  at  least  the  shadow  of  Peter  pass- 
ing by  might  overshadow  some  of  them. 

Like  Seguier,  the  Camisard,  who  had  more  reason 
than  most  people  to  complain  of  life,  he  can  say,  "My 
soul  is  like  a  garden  full  of  shelter  and  of  fountains." 

June  27th,  after  Mrs.  Whitman's  death. 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  who  dost  enkindle  the 
flame  of  Thy  love  in  the  hearts  of  the  saints,  grant  unto 
us  the  same  faith  and  power,  that  as  we  rejoice  in  their 
triumphs  we  may  profit  by  their  examples,  through 
Jesus  Christ  Our  Lord. 

Father,  we  thank  Thee  for  the  faithful  souls  that  have 
blessed  the  world,  whose  lives  shine  as  the  light,  holy 
ones  who  have  feared  God,  who  have  bravely  upheld  the 
right,  and  generously  lived  for  others'  good. 

Oh,  may  their  pure  and  noble  lives  animate  and  quick- 
en our  hearts,  and  in  our  souls  may  there  burn  a  desire 
like  them  to  become  true  children  of  God. 

A  friendship  which,  at  this  most  solemn  time,  does 
not  seem  so  much  to  have  been  interrupted  as  to  have 
been  consecrated  for  evermore.  In  old  days  it  was 
strength  to  be  with  her  and  for  the  future  it  will  be 
strength  to  remember  her. 


Aet.  35  381 

Never  be  joyful  except  when  ye  shall  look  on  your 
brother  in  love.  —  New  Sayings  of  Jesus. 

The  weak  shall  be  saved  by  the  strong. 

"No  reflection,"  writes  Harnack,  "of  the  reason,  no 
deliberation  of  the  intelligence,  will  ever  be  able  to  ex- 
punge from  the  moral  ideas  of  mankind  the  conviction 
that  injustice  and  sin  deserve  punishment,  and  that 
everywhere  when  a  just  man  suffers  an  atonement  is 
made  which  puts  us  to  shame  and  purifies  us. 

"  It  is  a  conviction  which  is  impenetrable,  for  it  comes 
out  of  those  depths  in  which  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  a 
unity,  and  out  of  the  world  which  lies  behind  the  world 
of  phenomena.  Mocked  and  denied  as  though  it  had 
long  perished,  this  truth  is  indestructible,  preserved  in 
the  moral  experience  of  mankind.  These  are  the  ideas 
which  from  the  beginning  onward  have  been  roused  by 
Christ's  death." 

This  is  just  the  heroic  in  the  faith  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, that  in  the  midst  of  the  riddles  of  life,  and  face  to 
face  with  the  impenetrable  darkness  resting  on  the  life 
beyond,  it  throws  itself,  without  reserve,  into  the  arms 
of  God.  —  DELITZSCH. 


382  1904 

To  MRS.  CHARLES  HOPKINSON. 

Wednesday  Morn. 
My  dear,  dear  old  Elinor, 

I  wanted  to  send  you  a  rose  with  a  bud  —  I  wanted  to 
write  —  but  the  Baby's  "  Gammardge  "  thought  I  had 
better  wait  a  few  days  longer,  and  I  knew  you  needed 
no  words  to  tell  you  of  the  thrill  of  rejoicing  that 
went  through  this  household  when  the  pink  ribbon 
appeared  in  your  window.  And  then  your  mother  was 
so  dear  to  come  across  and  tell  us  all  about  it. 

I  am  glad  she  had  Steenie  to  stand  by  her,  while  she 
stood  by  Charles,  and  now  I  hear  that  "  she  "  is  such  a 
dear,  and  so  pretty,  every  one  says,  and  all  her  'lations 
seem  to  care  considerable  about  her.  Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful? When  I  feel  a  sudden  glow  at  my  heart  I  know 
my  subliminal  self  is  thinking  of  you  with  a  little  girl 
baby  in  your  arms. 

God  bless  you  both,  and  Charley  and  your  mother, 
who  stand  next  in  the  picture. 

What  a  warm  nest  of  love  and  friendship  that  little 
girl  has  come  into. 

•        •         >         •         .         .       - »        «         .         . 

I  love  you,  darling. 

Your  old  friend, 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

HOME,  Sunday,  Feb.  7th. 
Dearest  Paulina, 

Yesterday,  for  me,  had  no  history  except  that,  like 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  I  moved  "from  the  blue  room 
to  the  brown."  Yes,  and  in  the  afternoon  I  saw 


Aet.  35  383 

Ethel  again,  who  pretends  that  her  hair  is  full  of  the 
ashes  of  repentance,  tho'  it  gleams  as  bright  as  ever  to 
the  outward  eye. 

Mamma  came  back  from  her  luncheon  party  full  of 
anecdote  and  pastry. 

Miss  Lowell  and  Miss  Jackson  were  all  delightful,  but 
"  mediaeval  Molly  "  was  the  gem  of  the  occasion.  She 
doesn't  think  there  will  be  war  between  Japan  and  Rus- 
sia, and  said  it  reminded  her  of  two  cows,  long  ago  in 
Con  way,  who  came  charging  and  pawing  towards  each 
other  down  the  road  —  then  turned  and  fled.  "John 
Edward,"  said  she  to  the  disappointed  farmer's  boy 
who  had  been  watching  them,  "what  was  the  matter? 
Why  didn't  they  fight?  "  "  Wai,"  he  answered,  "  one 
of  'em  was  scared  and  the  other  darsn't."  And  some 
one  else  told  of  a  man  who  had  gone  to  church  after 
many  years,  and  was  glad,  for  he  had  learnt  something 
—  he  had  found  out  that  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were 
cities  and  he  had  always  thought  them  man  and  wife. 

Dorr  Bradley  has  written  to  ask  me  if  he  can  get  a 
tiger-kitten,  of  the  Mt.  Vernon  Street  breed,  for  his 
Alice,  but  she  will  have  to  be  satisfied  with  a  ' '  lesser 
Lord  of  doom."  Is  not  Sansge,  like  Warwick's  war- 
horse,  the  last  of  a  noble  line?  She  is  asleep  on  my 
feet  at  the  moment,  or  she  would  send  her  love. 

Mamma,  in  the  chimney-neuk,  is  absolutely  reading 
a  chapter  I  chose  for  her  in  ' '  The  Soul  of  the  Black 
Folk."  It  is  beautiful  and  tragic,  and  true  too,  I 
imagine,  except  that  it  is  unlikely  that  ten  thousand 
little  pickaninnies  feel  as  he  does,  who  is  a  genius  and 
a  poet. 

I  laughed  at  Dr.  Mason  and  Mamma's  decision  that 


384  1904 

it  was  better  not  to  take  things  too  hard  if  you  couldn't 
prevent  them.  Do  you  think  Dr.  M.  is  one  of  those 
who  learns  by  suffering  what  he  teaches  in  song? 

Miss  Mason  interviewed  a  club  of  young  Jew  girls  a 
while  ago  who  wanted  to  join  the  North  End  Union. 
They  called  their  club  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  and  their 
mottoes  were  "Keep  wide  awake"  and  "A  sleeping 
fox  catches  no  poultry."  Don't  you  think  they  had 
hitched  a  rather  unethical  wagon  to  their  star? 

Your  loving  old 

SISTER. 

To  MRS.  F.  O.  BARTON. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

February  29. 
Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Mea, 

Into  the  Holy  of  Holies  of  such  a  grief  as  yours  only 
the  nearest  have  a  right  to  enter,  but  we  who  stand  in 
the  Outer  Court  long  to  bring  some  small  offering  of 
love  and  sympathy. 

I  carry  you  always  in  my  heart  —  there  is  not  a  day 
when  I  do  not  think  of  you  and  long  to  put  my  arms 
round  you. 

When  the  news  of  Mr.  Barton's  death  came  we  real- 
ized a  little  the  joy  you  must  have  felt  for  him — you 
whose  heart  had  gone  with  his  into  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow — when,  at  last,  "  mortality  was  swallowed  up 
of  life."  "  And,  as  he  went  over  the  River,  the  last 
words  he  was  heard  to  say  were,  *  Welcome,  Life.' ' 

The  dark  hours  come  later,  when  there  is  nothing  to 
do  but  rest  heavily  on  the  will  of  God.  "And  our  hope 


Aet.  35  385 

of  you  is  steadfast,  knowing  that  as  ye  are  partakers 
of  the  sufferings  so  shall  ye  be  also  of  the  consolation." 

I  wish  I  had  known  your  husband.  You  must  have 
memories  that  make  you  very  proud  and  grateful,  and 
boys  to  train  up  to  bear  their  father's  untarnished 
shield.  There  are  so  many  that  need  you  —  young  and 
old  —  and  it  is  clinging  hands  that  hold  up  hearts  that 
faint. 

Those  who  love,  even  Death  itself  cannot  separate, 
and  in  all  the  loneliness  and  anguish  in  which  you  are 
left  you  will  surely  feel  the  larger  life  into  which  he  has 
entered  pulsing  in  yours. 

So  let  her  wait  God's  instant  men  call  years ; 

Meanwhile  hold  fast  by  truth,  and  her  great  soul  do  out  the  duty. 

May  He  ' '  who  seeth  the  sighs  of  the  heart  before 
they  are  uttered  and  heareth  them  still  when  they  are 
hushed  into  silence  "  comfort  you  now  and  always. 

Yours  in  true  love  and  sympathy, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 


386  1904 

SUMMER  OF  1904. — BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 

So  one  of  the  chickens  went  to  the  trough  to  drink, 
and  every  time  she  drank  she  lifted  up  her  head  and 
her  eyes  toward  Heaven.  "See,"  said  he,  "  what  this 
little  chick  doth,  and  learn  of  her  to  acknowledge 
whence  your  mercies  come  by  receiving  them  with  look- 
ing up."  —  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

May  8,  Sunday. 

Exquisite  sunrise  with  a  pale  crescent  moon,  and  the 
Wood  Thrushes  singing  gloriously  a  whole  hour,  with 
only  little  Chestnut-sides  to  accompany  them.  At  five 
o'clock  comes  the  full  bird  chorus.  Looking  out  early 
I  saw,  first,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chickadee  in  Paulina's  oak. 
Then  a  pair  of  Robins,  the  first  Chestnut-sided  Warbler, 
ecstatically  catching  something  in  a  low  oak  tip,  and  a 
Black-and-white  Creeper;  a  little  later  we  see  the  first 
Blue  Jay  in  my  tree  and  drinking  from  the  big  tub. 
After  breakfast  see  the  Pine  Warbler,  some  kind  of 
Hawk,  Chimney  Swifts,  Gulls,  and  hear  the  Purple 
Finch  warbling;  a  good  deal  of  unfamiliar  song,  which 
suggests  a  Catbird,  and  a  little  bird  soliloquy  as  of  the 
Ked-eyed  Vireo;  also  the  Oven-bird's  flight-song  in  the 
morning.  Hear  Downy  drumming,  Flickers  crying 
"  Wick-a-wick, "  and  Nuthatches  talking,  all  unseen. 
After  lunch  we  see  the  first  Oven-bird,  mincing  about 
under  my  oak,  Black-throated  Green,  and  Chippy  com- 
ing to  his  supper. 

May  16. 

Day  opens  cold  and  dark  after  a  pouring  night.  Sun 
struggles  out  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  when  I  move 
out  onto  my  piazza,.  A  Wood  Thrush  on  the  little 


Aet.  35  387 

bushes  by  the  path,  a  Red-eyed  Vireo  gossips  over  her 
work  in  the  hemlock  hedge  and  oak  scrub.  Hear  a  Cat- 
bird's mew,  and  later  the  faint  ringing  of  an  Indigo- 
bird,  whom  we  discovered  among  the  low  bushes  at  the 
foot  of  the  crooked  pine  —  a  perfect  sapphire,  and  my 
own,  for  as  soon  as  the  canary  seed  is  poured  out  on 
the  familiar  spot  on  the  path  he  comes  to  eat  there. 

Looking  down  at  sunset  time  over  my  piazza,  edge 
see  little  Indigo-bird  taking  two  separate  late  suppers 
on  the  path,  and  a  pair  of  Robins,  Chippy  and  Oven- 
birds  over  and  over  again,  while  the  Black-throated 
Greens  and  a  Black-and-white  Warbler  pursue  each  other 
through  the  low  bushes  near  the  big  tub. 

A  silent  space  with  ever-sprouting  green, 

All  tenderest  birds  there  find  a  pleasant  screen, 

Creep  through  the  shade  with  jaunty  fluttering, 

Nibble  the  little  cupped  flowers  and  sing. 

KEATS. 

May  24. 

Cloudy  and  soft,  then  bright  and  warm.  The  hill- 
side for  the  first  time  ' '  a  mist  of  green  "  rather  than  a 
mist  of  pinkish-brown. 

The  Cardinals  are  breakfasting  on  the  path,  but  where 
is  little  Indigo?  Has  he  gone  to  meet  his  wife?  See 
besides  Chestnut-sides  and  Black-and-white,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Black- throated  Green  (she  gathers  wicking),  and 
Mrs.  Redstart,  who  gathers  wicking  and  hops  along 
piazza  rail.  Red-eyed  Vireos,  Swifts,  a  Baltimore  Oriole 
flying  past  and  a  Catbird  in  the  barberry  tangle.  Pine 
Warblers  twittering  and  a  pair  of  Goldfinches  on  the  dry 
leaves,  under  the  ash  tree,  —  he  exactly  like  one  of  the 
dandelions  near  him.  But  triumph  of  triumphs,  what 


388  1904 

I  am  very  sure  is  my  own  Smutty  comes  back  to  me 
at  last  after  three  long  weeks  of  waiting.  The  Chick- 
adee pair  have  been  indifferent  to  meal  worms,  even 
when  set  out  on  the  bird-table,  besides  looking  pale  and 
small  and  young  and  timid  for  my  gallant  Smutty. 
But  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  chancing  to  leave 
the  meal-worm  dish  uncovered  on  the  table  by  my  sofa, 
on  my  return  I  find  a  Chickadee  feeding  from  it  in  the 
old  familiar  way  —  a  Chickadee  that  looks  like  Smutty. 
While  I  am  dressing  he  comes  back  again  and  after  one 
shy  flutter  he  eats  from  it  beside  me  as  I  lie  quite  still 
on  my  sofa. 

Stay  out  through  the  exquisite  warm  evening  with 
the  Thrushes  to  sing  to  me  at  first.  When  they  stop, 
there  are  a  few  flight-songs.  Then  I  see  the  first  Night- 
hawk  fluttering  over  me  and  hear  a  dozen  times,  very 
faint  in  the  distance,  but  unmistakable,  the  long-lost 
Whippoorwill. 

In  some  time  —  His  good  time,  I  shall  arrive. 

May  25. 

Each  hidden  by  a  leaf  his  rapture  tells. 

Warm  and  half  cloudy — then  bright.  Out  eleven 
hours.  Waked  by  a  Pe-a-wee's  plaintive,  sultry  voice. 
See  a  Blackpoll  Warbler  in  the  hemlock  hedge  before 
breakfast,  but  where  is  little  Indigo?  Chickadees  here, 
and  among  them  Smutty,  who  sits  on  a  fence,  but  fears 
to  cast  away  at  first;  then  comes  five  times  to  my  little 
table  for  his  meal  worms  —  twice  when  I  was  there. 

See  Downy,  and,  on  the  path  feeding,  Chippies,  Oven- 
birds,  Robins,  Blue  Jays  (three  of  the  last  fly  about  all 
day  in  deadly  fight  in  the  crooked  pine,  scrub  oak,  etc.). 


Aet.  35  389 

Red-eyed  Vireo  everywhere,  Pine  Warblers  trilling 
in  my  tree,  Chestnut-sided  Warblers,  Black-and-white 
Warbler  and  Black-throated  Green,  and  Mrs.  Redstart 
after  wicking;  also  a  pair  of  Goldfinches  in  the  barberry 
tangle  (he  for  two  long  visits),  a  Humming-bird,  and  at 
sunset  time  a  female  Tanager,  who  sits  quietly  in 
Paulina's  oak  and  the  oak  scrub  and  lets  us  look  at 
her. 

June  4. 

Exquisite  warm  day  with  the  leaves  all  shining. 
(Dear  little  Gray  Rose  appears  to  be  dying  before  break- 
fast and  lies  on  her  nest  with  closed  eyes  and  panting 
breath,  then  rallies  a  little,  gets  onto  a  perch  and  eats. 
Still  very  ill,  but  grows  better.) 

A  female  Goldfinch  sits  in  my  tree  and  then  returns 
to  it  with  her  husband,  who  prunes  his  ebon  wing  there 
serenely. 

June  9. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  found  dear  little  Gray 
Rose  dead  under  her  perch.  She  had  been  so  poorly 
again  yesterday  that  we  almost  hoped  she  would  die  — 
but  never  to  have  her  again  —  never  to  hear  her  little 

hymn! 

Fare  thee  well,  companion  dear, 

Fare  for  ever  well,  nor  fear, 
Tiny  though  thou  art,  to  stray 
Down  the  uncompanioned  way. 

A  line  of  singular  pathos  in  the  Greek  anthology  tells 
of  the  voice  of  the  singing  bird  forever  hushed.  "Thy 
ways  and  sweet  breath  are  prisoned  in  the  silent  paths 
of  night." 


390  1904 

Smutty  flies  thirty-eight  times  to  my  hand.  A  pair 
of  Eedstarts  play  tag  in  my  tree  and  a  pair  of  love-sick 
Oven-birds  under  it.  See  one  flight-song.  Bright,  cool 
afternoon.  Stay  out  till  seven.  All  the  birds  singing 
sweetly  at  sunset  time  and  the  sweetest  singer  of  all 
lying  still  under  the  nasturtiums  beside  me.  My  dear 
little  Gray.  I  have  you  also  in  my  heart. 

Thy  memory  lasts  both  here  and  there, 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  long  as  we, 
And  after  that  —  thou  dost  not  care  ; 
In  us  was  all  the  world  to  thee. 

June  10. 

Lovely  November  day,  autumnally  cloudy  and  bright, 
both.  Paulina,  walking  out,  sees  a  pair  of  Purple 
Finches  in  the  midst  of  an  ardent  courtship,  he  danc- 
ing in  the  roads  with  trailing  wings  and  she  at  the 
roadside  pretending  to  search  for  food  and  not  to  see 
him.  Thrushes  glorious  at  sunset  time,  and  very  near. 
Deep  pink  sunset  over  the  sky. 

June  27. 

After  a  hot  night  an  exquisite  morning  —  cooler,  with 
a  fresh  air  stirring;  indoors  at  noon  for  an  hour,  then 
out  again.  A  Red-breasted  Nuthatch  lands  on  the  first 
mound  pine. 

The  most  beautiful  of  afternoons,  with  a  deeply-blue 
sky  and  cool,  still  air.  At  sunset  the  west  is  gold  with 
a  pink  afterglow  on  the  sea,  which  is  full  of  light,  like 
an  opal.  A  Wood  Thrush  sings  his  evening  hymn  on 
the  crooked  pine.  Then  a  full  moon. 

The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  and  land. 


Aet.  35  391 

July  10. 

See  the  Chickadee  family,  the  Downy  family,  the 
Catbird  family.  (There  are  four  maltese  kitten-birds.) 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Redstart  carrying  food  to  invisible  voices; 
the  Chippies  with  a  very  young  brood  (one  baby  takes 
his  downy  nap  on  the  piazza,  rail  till  his  mother  comes 
back  for  him),  and  the  baby  Black-throated  Greens 
being  escorted  about  the  mound,  the  hemlock  hedge 
and  my  tree  by  their  proud  parents.  Mrs.  Humming- 
bird makes  six  visits  to  the  nasturtiums.  A  Wood 
Thrush  flies  from  the  path  and  Oven-birds  fly  up  into 
the  sky  in  early  morning  "  afternoon  songs." 

August  15. 

Exquisite  morning,  and  all  the  little  birds  astir.  Get 
out  at  5.30,  when,  though  the  sky  is  blue  and  the  sun 
gilding  the  pine  tops,  a  pale  pink  haze  is  over  the  sea. 

See  Wood  Pewees,  Song-sparrows,  Goldfinches,  who 
light  on  trees,  Robins,  who  are  clamourous  on  the  hill- 
side, Flickers,  and  old  male  Redstart. 

Smutty,  ever  since  his  young  have  been  self-support- 
ing, has  been  contented  with  six  or  seven  meal  worms  a 
day.  He,  like  all  the  cage  birds,  is  moulting.  Out  four- 
teen hours  through  a  most  perfect,  warm  day.  Thrushes 
talk  at  sunset  as  they  did  at  dawn,  but  no  singing! 

Sept.  5. 

Glorious  sunrise  with  a  Thrush  ' '  chooking  "  and  purr- 
ing as  he  did  last  evening  at  sunset.  Get  out  at  five 
o'clock.  The  pine  tops  and  their  trunks  are  in  a  deep 
glow  as  if  reflecting  a  great  fire.  Hear  a  loud  unfamiliar 
single  note  —  very  sweet  —  on  the  hillside,  and  hear  the 


392  1904 

Cardinal  sing  from  the  hemlocks.  A  small  Warbler 
comes  into  my  tree  with  a  warm  brown  cloak  and  hood, 
two  white  wing-bars,  a  gold  waistcoat  streaked  with 
black.  After  sunset  a  Wood  Thrush  flies  almost  into 
my  arms. 

Oct.  5. 

Warmer,  but  not  so  still  nor  unclouded.  Out  six 
hours.  The  air  is  full  of  Bluebird  calls  and  soft  little 
unknown  trills  and  whispered  songs  —  one  like  a  fairy 
whistle.  See  the  Brown  Creeper  and  Juncos  in  the 
trees  and  feeding  on  the  path  with  the  White-throated 
Sparrows  and  the  Song-sparrows.  Hear  the  ' '  chook  " 
of  the  Hermit  Thrush  and  then,  triumph!  there  he  is 
among  the  barberries  jerking  his  rufous  tail.  Myrtle 
Warblers  everywhere,  and  in  my  tree  a  Parula  Warbler 
and  young  Redstart,  and  then,  behind  the  house,  we 
see  Black-throated  Blue  and  Nashville  Warbler  over  and 
over  again,  our  very  first  Tennessee  Warbler,  making 
the  eighth.  Warmer  today. 


Aet.  35  393 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

Thursday,  June  23. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Dexter, 

The  awful  loss  we  have  all  foreseen  with  our  minds  is 
now  close  upon  us  and  we  must  realize  it  with  our  hearts. 

Mrs.  Whitman  is  sinking  fast,  they  think.  She  con- 
tinued about  the  same  till  last  Sunday  night,  when  she 
had  a  serious  turn.  Mrs.  Parkman  does  not  leave  her. 
Thank  God  those  loving  arms  have  been  round  her  all 
these  last  piteous  years.  She  does  not  suffer  much  — 
she  has  begun  to  wander  a  little  in  her  mind  —  once  she 
said,  ' '  I  think  I  am  going  peacefully  from  this  world  to 
the  next."  It  seemed  tragic  that  the  end  should  come 
at  the  hospital  away  from  her  own  beautiful  home  — 
that  she  has  treated  her  own  sufferings  always  so  care- 
lessly, but  that  is  in  keeping  with  a  life  that  came  not 
to  be  ministered  unto  but  to  minister.  All  the  loving 
service  of  all  the  long  years  come  crowding  into  my 
mind  —  the  wide  human  sympathies,  the  tender  heroic 
counsel — all  she  has  been  to  me  and  to  hundreds  more  — 
"  and  they  that  turn  many  to  righteousness  as  the  stars 
forever  and  ever. "  What  shall  we  do  without  her?  It  is 
like  the  Pilgrim's  parting  with  Mr.  Greatheart,  "I 
know  not  how  to  be  willing  you  should  leave  us  in  our 
pilgrimage,  you  who  have  been  so  faithful  and  so  lov- 
ing to  us;  you  have  fought  so  stoutly  for  us,  you  have 
been  so  hearty  in  counselling  of  us.  Oh,  that  we  might 
have  thy  company  to  our  journey's  end!  How  can  such 
poor  women  as  we  hold  out  in  a  way  so  full  of  troubles 
as  this  way  is  without  a  friend  and  defender?  "  God 

help  us  all. 

Your  loving, 

ALICE. 


394:  1904 

To  HER  SISTER. 

(July.) 
My  own  darling, 

This  is  just  to  put  my  arms  round  you  again.  You 
know  I  haven't  said  anything  these  last  days.  Words 
seem  so  little  sometimes  and  yet  have  a  trick  of  opening 
the  floodgates. 

Nor  dares  she  trust  a  larger  lay, 
But  rather  loosens  from  her  lip 
Short  swallow-flights  of  song  that  dip 
Their  wings  in  tears  and  skim  away. 

You  know  how  I  love  you,  and  that  it  is  because  I 
shall  miss  you  so  much  that  I  can  bear  it. 

All  the  little  familiar  habits  of  love  —  the  shared  joys 
and  sorrows  —  yes,  and  the  shared  jokes  of  all  the  years 
—  the  smiles  and  tears  and  half -conscious  memories 
have  twisted  up  our  chord  of  love  whose  end  is  "  hid 
with  Christ  in  God." 

Time  has  made  for  us  something  that  time  cannot 
touch  —  something  that  ' '  must  glow  thro'  time  and 
change  unquenchably  the  same." 

It  will  shine  on  me  here  and  keep  your  heart  warm 
sometimes  when  perhaps  —  even  in  the  midst  of  moun- 
tain peaks  and  cathedrals  —  you  will  want  Aunty  Nan. 

Does  she  tyrannize  over  you?  and  make  you  take 
drugs  of  the  first  class  and  novels  of  the  fourth  class? 
and  chase  squirrels  and  watch  birds  —  invisible  birds  in 
distant  branches  —  and  melt  in  unnecessary  black  holes 
of  Calcutta? 

But  she  loves  you,  darling. 

Whatever  lands  doom  takes  to  part  us  leaves  thy  heart  in  mine 
With  pulses  that  beat  double. 


Aet.  35  395 

Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  stood  on  the  verge  of  my  world 
and  saw  the  sails  grow  dim  in  the  horizon.  But  ' '  are 
they  not  all  the  seas  of  God?"  and  such  gallant  ships 
we  have  seen  battling  with  heavy  seas  —  safe  in  port 
now,  thank  God. 

Keep  a  brave  heart,  darling,  and  come  home  with  re- 
newed joy  and  courage  to  your  most  loving 

ALICE. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Monday,  July  4. 
Darling  Teeny, 

Would  you  like  a  few  extracts  from  our  "  kindling  "? 
I  cannot  call  it  "log"  any  more  than  Grandma  Lodge 
could  call  a  parlour- woman  a  parlour-girl. 

It  is  a  bright  and  windy  day  after  a  night  made  hide- 
ous by  youthful  patriots.  Sophie  is  keeping  many-col- 
ored rodents  at  bay  while  the  birds  feed  —  and  Sans- 
Gene  stands  in  the  screen  door  eager  to  help.  She  is 
her  Gamardge's  only  comfort. 

Leaning  out  the  sun-parlour  window,  when  the  wind 
waves  the  long  ferny  leaves  of  the  sumachs,  one  can 
catch  a  glimpse  of  blue  eggs  in  a  brown  nest  —  at  least 
when  Mrs.  Robin  isn't  being  her  own  rooftree.  As  a 
bit  of  Gothic  I  am  afraid  she  is  pure  Brockton. 

Did  Mamma  tell  you  I  had,  on  Friday,  a  call  from 
Eliphaz  Hopkinson,  the  Temanite?  Afterwards  said  I 
to  Gamdge,  ' '  It's  a  little  too  much  to  be  told  that  the 
Prisoner  would  have  really  been  better  off  without  his 
Picciola."  "  Nonsense,"  said  Dearie,  "  you've  lots  of 
Picciolas."  "But  not  my  little  Picciola  with  the  long 
ears." 

Conversation  number  2  (something  between  a  Cans- 


396  1904 

erie  de  Lundi  and  a  Causerie  avec  mes  eleves,  which  I 
remember  was  all  fingers  and  thumbs) : 

A.     Man  has  such  need  of  joy, 

But  joy  whose  grounds  are  true. 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  bah,  the  poets!  I  wish,  if  you  have  to 
quote,  you'd  quote  something  cheerful  with  a  lilt  in  it. 

A.  "Young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west" 
doesn't  seem  to  have  much  bearing  on  my  life. 

But  for  all  that  we  are  eating  venison  pasties  with 
some  relish,  in  company  with  Friar  Tuck  and  the  Black 

Knight. 

Your  doting 

AUNTIE  NAN. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

July  8. 

Greetings  from  the  home-nest,  from  the  Egg  and  the 

Nestling. 

Smutty  sits  on  the  piazza  rail  glaring  at  his  offspring 
and  wishing  he  had  remained  a  bachelor.  Six  babies, 
all  ufour  times  as  big  as  the  bush-tit,  are  a  clawful." 
Downy  wishes  me  to  tell  you  that  he  has  taught  his 
"Dunoise"  and  "  Dunoisa"  to  eat  suet  by  themselves 
and  "  he  can  drum  a  little  then." 

Yesterday  Kitty  and  I  kept  house  together  while 
Mamma  lunched  with  Mrs.  John  Morse,  with  Mrs.  Cur- 
tis and  Miss  Addie  Bigelow.  That  sounds  rather  giddy, 
doesn't  it?  But  what  do  you  think  of  our  asking  two 
small  boys  to  spend  Sunday  with  us?  However,  it  got 
no  further,  for  Dickson,  who  was  to  supply  the  amuse- 
ments, thinks  he  had  better  play  with  Anstiss,  so  Mil- 
dred's chicks  must  wait  till  another  Sunday,  when  the 


Aet.  35  397 

holes  and  windows  in  the  Weston-Smith  house  are 
mended  with  something  more  substantial  than  cheese- 
cloth. Knowing  that  "  tho'  on  pleasure  bent  you  have 
a  frugal  mind,"  and  that  skies,  but  not  Conys,  change, 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  the  damage  is 
paid  for  by  the  Insurance  Company.  Jim  Hooper 
thinks  it  will  cost  perhaps  five  hundred  dollars.  But 
that  is  a  small  matter.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  so  miracu- 
lous an  escape?  Anstiss  feels  more  what  she  calls 
"lazy"  than  she  thought  she  should,  but  her  head  is 
better,  which  buzzed  like  a  hive  of  bees  the  first  day. 
Her  chief  distress  was  breaking  the  Pup's  death  to 
Melly-my-love.  But  the  boys  all  bore  themselves  like 
tender-hearted  Trojans. 

It  isn't  often  this  modest  family  appear  in  the  public 
print,  but  on  this  occasion  the  "  Herald  "  gave  us  a  few 
lines  which  bring  friends  to  inquire. 

You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  "  where  the 
lightning  strikes  the  fawns  will  be  gathered  together." 

Mrs.  William  Brooks  drove  up  and  Mrs.  Bell  writes 
in  much  excitement,  ending  with,  ' '  Heavy  clouds  are 
coming  up  now,  and,  as  a  book  I  used  to  read  as  a  child 
said,  my  milk  teeth  begin  to  chatter  in  my  mouth  from 
fear."  ' 

It  was  dear  to  get  three  real  live  letters  from  the 
Faderland  —  and  to  think  of  the  red-headed  Supporters, 
one  on  each  side  of  my  Shield  and  Buckler. 

Your  lovingest 

ALICE. 


398  1904 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

Monday,  July  18. 
Darling  Teeny, 

As  Mamma  and  I  sat  on  the  piazza  last  evening  by 
moonlight  we  wondered  whether  to  picture  you  in 
Cologne  or  further  down  the  Rhine. 

It  was  an  exquisite  midsummer  day  here  and  in  the 
late  afternoon  Mamma  went  to  the  Memorial  Service  at 
Beverly  Farms. 

Mr.  Dow,  the  florist,  told  of  all  Mrs.  Whitman  had 
been  to  her  country  neighbors  and  to  the  Baptist 
Church.  When  Mr.  Lothrop  came  to  speak  he  broke 
down  for  a  moment  and  so  did  Richard  Cabot,  who 
made  the  most  beautiful  speech  of  the  occasion.  Judge 
Holmes  was  eloquent,  Mamma  says,  and  dwelt  on  her 
generosity,  her  intelligent  sympathy  with  all  great 
causes,  her  love  of  her  kind,  her  humour,  of  her  democ- 
racy of  heart;  but  Richard  Cabot  spoke  as  one  of  the 
young  men  who  loved  her  —  whose  life  she  had  in- 
spired—  "rejoicing  that  he  was  turning  his  young 
strength  to  the  old  questions." 

Immortality,  he  said,  was  the  keynote  of  her  charac- 
ter —  an  immortality  that  begins  now;  and  he  read  ex- 
tracts from  her  letters  to  him  on  friendship  and  death 
and  work  —  very  beautiful,  Mamma  says,  and  like  her. 
Her  friends,  Richard  said,  were  like  jewels  to  her,  —  all 
shining  with  their  own  beauty,  —  and  she  called  herself 
the  string  on  which  they  hung. 

As  he  spoke  it  seemed  as  if  the  "  friends  and  neigh- 
bors she  had  loved,  and  who  had  gone  before  her,  were 
among  them  too  —  Martin  Brimmer  and  the  two  Obers, 


Aet.  35  399 

Mr.  Larcom  and  his  own  mother."  He  spoke  of  her 
hours  filled  with  work;  of  her  splendid  courage;  of  the 
house  she  built  to  welcome  her  friends,  which  opened 
directly  into  the  living  room  and  sacred  hearthstone,  as 
her  life  did. 

I  tell  you  this  lamely  at  second  hand,  but  wasn't  it 
beautiful  to  have  it  adequately  said  by  some  one  who 
knew  and  cared  so  much,  in  one  of  the  places  she  had 
worked  so  gladly  and  loved  so  many? 

I  had  a  beautiful  letter  from  Mrs.  Parkman  the  other 
day.  One  of  the  last  things  Mrs.  Whitman  said  that 
last  week  was,  "It's  all  been  good,  hasn't  it?  for  it's 
been  answering  to  the  Spirit." 

If  "  Life  is  to  be  measured  by  the  amount  of  love  in 
the  human  soul,"  as  Tauler  says,  hers  was  a  very  won- 
derful one.  She  bore  witness  of  the  light.  "  And  they 
that  turn  many  to  righteousness  as  the  stars  forever 

and  ever." 

Your  most  loving 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  IDA  MASON. 

MANCHESTER,  July  19. 
Dear  Miss  Mason, 

When  you  were  here  last  I  could  talk  calmly  of  Mrs. 
Whitman's  possibly  approaching  death,  but  oh,  the  dif- 
ference when  one  had  to  realize  with  one's  heart  that 
one  should  see  her  face  no  more  —  never  again  clasp  the 
hand  so  tender  to  raise  and  soothe,  or  hear  the  spoken 
word  so  full  of  inspiration  and  good  cheer!  "  The  sting 
of  death  is  sin  "  in  more  senses  than  the  obvious  one, 
isn't  it?  and  the  loss  of  those  we  love  are  our  judgment 
days. 


400  1904 

If  only  I  had  loved  her  more  generously  —  not  taken 
so  much  and  given  so  little  all  these  years  which  she 
has  brightened  by  her  presence! 

At  this  supreme  moment  I  try  to  forget  my  own  re- 
morse —  try  to  forget  my  own  changed  world  —  and 
think  only  of  that  heroic  life  passed  out  of  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  into  the  light  beyond  —  the  light  she  be- 
lieved in  and  bore  witness  to. 

We  must  try  to  mourn  her  as  she  mourned  those  she 
loved,  with  the  strong  note  of  triumphant  joy  running 
thro'  the  pain. 

How  many  lives  she  has  made  brighter  by  living,  and 
she  brought  not  only  tenderness,  but  strength.  "At 
the  top  of  the  pillar  was  lily  work." 

I  am  glad  there  was  a  Memorial  Service  at  Beverly 
Farms  in  the  church  where  she  had  worked  so  gladly 
among  the  humble  neighbors  who  knew  how  to  love  her. 

Affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  July  20. 

Well,  Teeny,  so  "Nelson  was  tolollish,"  compared 
with  you  as  a  sailor  on  high  seas!! 

Your  letter  and  Ethel's  have  just  come,  and  Mamma 
is  committing  them  to  memory  just  inside  my  door, 
while  "  S.  Gr."  lies  at  languid  length  on  the  bed  beyond. 
It  is  our  fourth  exquisite  midsummer  day,  and  really 
warm.  Last  night  I  slept  out  under  the  heavy  dew 
and  the  stars,  and  had  seen  twenty-one  kinds  of  birds 
before  seven  o'clock  this  morning,  to  the  despair  of 
"Sopidge."  I  have  found  that  the  darning-egg  is  the 


Aet.  35  401 

only  egg  in  which  she  takes  no  interest,  and  it  is  a  dis- 
couraging business.  She  showed  me  a  sample  the  other 
day  and  asked  my  advice. 

"  Burn  it —  I  call  that  a  hole  with  a  stocking  in  it." 

Another  mild  jest  of  mine  I  venture  to  send  on  the 
chance  it  may  awake  an  echo  of  the  giggles  in  which  it 
was  created.  I  advised  Mamma,  if  in  low  spirits,  to 
skip  —  in  our  Book  of  Prayers  —  anything  called  "  Gen- 
eral Intercession,"  as  there  they  give  full  rein  to  a  vivid, 
morbid  imagination.  "  For  all  those  wrongfully  con- 
fined in  penitentiaries;  for  women  in  perils  of  childbirth 
on  unsea worthy  vessels;  for  overworked  servants;  for 
tired  book  agents  having  dogs  set  on  them;  for  sailors 
with  thin  ends  to  their  mufflers  — " 

Here  Gamdge  broke  into  hysterical  sobbings.  I 
should  add  that  living  alone  with  a  Dormouse,  "  tho'  a 
highly  moral,  is  not  a  peculiarly  exciting,  life,"  but  I 
fear  she  might  say  that  a  combination  u  Hatter  "  and 
"  March  Hare  "  also  had  its  drawbacks  as  a  steady  com- 
panion. 

Dickson  is  a  dear,  and  this  afternoon  I  see  Mrs.  Pea- 
body,  who  is  also  a  dear.  And  now,  my  dearest  dear, 

good-bye.     From 

Your  devoted 

AUNTIE  NAN. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER, 

Sunday,  July  24. 
Darling  Linkstress, 

What  good  care  you  are  taking  of  my  baby,  or  per- 
haps I  had  better  say  our  baby. 

Do  you  remember  Mamma's  dashing  out  as  you  and 


402  1904 

I  sat  on  this  piazza  last  year  to  say,  ' '  You  girls  may 
talk  as  much  as  you  like,  but  I  am  Paulina's  mother; " 
and  my  answering,  "Hush!  why  not  let  Ethel  go  on 
thinking  she's  her  mother?" 

But  if  I  am  so  generous  about  Paulina  you  must  let 
me  have  a  good  slice  of  Lily. 

That  dear  thing  was  here  again  Friday,  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  pointing  out  to  her  the  strange  lack  of  hu- 
mour possessed  by  the  Reformer. 

Imagine  the  Total  Abstainers  nominating  for  presi- 
dent a  man  named  ' '  Swallow!"  The  vice-president  is  not 
"Rum,"  as  you  might  imagine  at  first,  but  "Carol," 
which  Dickson  says  suggests  that  the  platform  is  ' '  Wein, 
Weib  und  Gesang." 

Poor  Dickson  has  been  gazing  wistfully  to  sea  this 
last  two  days,  where  the  boys  are  kept  by  a  northeast 
storm  and  a  high  sea  —  a  hen-father,  if  there  is  such  a 
bird. 

Friday  night  it  rained  and  blew  so  heavily  that  at 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were  grateful  to  see  the 
white  tent-top  sticking  up  out  of  the  mist. 

Literature  preserves  an  impressive  silence  as  to  how 
Robinson  Crusoe's  aunt  and  grandmother  felt. 

Tell  Paulina  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  the 
Cardinal's  second  nest,  if  they  had  one,  as  I  strongly 
suspect  they  did,  way  down  the  hillside. 

Sometimes  Sophie  and  I  "hear  the  lark  within  the 
songless  egg,"  but  as  a  whole  we  lean  to  despondency. 

However,  Virginia  is  safe,  and  only  once  has  Florider 
been  seen  trying  to  eloquently  persuade  her  into  being 
a  Liberal  Unionist. 

Five  minutes  for  refreshments  is  nothing  to  the  way 
that  poor  woman  is  expected  to  choke  down  her  meals. 


Aet.  35  403 

"  Quick-quick-quick,"  Wolsey  sings,  feeling  as  a  mother 
does  when  she  has  the  children  and  the  nurse  is  at  her 
meals.  Lily  also  feels  that  they  take  an  unearthly  time, 
—  nurses,  I  mean,  —  but  I  tell  her  it  goes  with  the 
nurse  attributes. 

As  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale  chooses  a  wife  who 
pares  the  rind  of  a  cheese,  so  before  hiring  a  nurse  ask 
to  see  her  eat.  If  she  chews  the  cud  and  divides  the 
hoof  hire  her  at  once. 

You  see,  darling,  I  am  happy  as  far  as  happiness  lies 
in  having  no  history. 

I  needn't  tell  you  I  love  you  and  long  for  you  and  re- 
joice with  you  every  minute. 

Your  most  devoted 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  July  28. 
Darling  Twitty-wee, 

I  had  my  last  caU  from  Mrs.  Peabody  yesterday,  and 
was  horrified  to  find  the  Elect  Lady  was  not  using  hos- 
pitality to  the  saints  without  grudging.  In  other 
words  she  hadn't  yet  invited  her  Bishop  for  October. 

The  path  of  duty  seemed  to  lie  toward  Bishop of 

something  woolly  and  western,  tho'  she  longed  for 
"Sacramento." 

She  is  a  dear  old  thing  and  when  not  talking  of  ' '  the 
Sabbaths  of  Eternity  "  is  refreshingly  vicious.  It  is 
another  case  of  "Go  to  hell,  Bunch. " 

And,  speaking  of  Bunch,  did  we  tell  you  that  for  five 
days  we  added  to  our  list  of  pets  a  female  Irish  terrier 
who  drove  about  with  William  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
carriage  looking  for  her  lost  home?  I  called  her  the 


404  1904 

Doge  of  Venice!!  And  thereby  hangs  another  tale.  If 
the  real  Doge  of  Venice  had  a  ring  with  which  he 
"wedded  the  Adriatic,"  why  should  not  Bella  have  a 
cake  with  which  to  wed  Squam  Lake?  so  I  am  having 
her  one  baked  and  frosted.  She  goes  up  Monday  with- 
out a  Harvard  student,  and,  as  her  wharf  isn't  finished, 
her  furniture  and  stores  must  be  butted  ashore  on  a  raft 
by  a  steam  launch. 

Her  coffee  cups  came  to  the  enormous  sum  of  one  dol- 
lar forty  cents,  so  I  made  her  keep  the  rest  of  the  gold- 
piece  u  to  get  herself  something  substantial  to  eat." 
Could  a  Wiesbaden  prune  come  under  this  head? 

Dickson  and  I  were  much  diverted  by  Mamma's  say- 
ing to  me,  in  all  soberness,  "There  are  two  tomatoes 
left!  I  bought  four!!  "  I  told  her  it  was  only  equalled 
by  Oliver  Hereford's  "  going  into  the  country  to  keep  a 
bee." 

Enter  Mamma  herself,  but  without  a  letter.  When 
we  last  heard  you  were  perched  on  the  spire  of  Cologne 
Cathedral  taking  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  adjacent 
countries. 

Sophie  has  seen  an  Orchard  Oriole,  by  the  way,  and  a 
Belted  Kingfisher,  and  we  have  both  seen  Baby  Tana- 
gers  —  but,  alas!  I  don't  believe  we  shall  ever  have 
Baby  Cardinals.  Virginia,  we  have  decided,  is  a  person 
marked  for  ill-fortune.  The  loss  of  her  tail  was,  per- 
haps, like  the  loss  of  Samson's  hair. 

What  frivolous  letters  I  write,  don't  I?  but  you  can 
read  the  serious  love  parts  between  the  lines. 

Did  I  tell  you  how  profoundly  impressed  I  was  by 
Di  when  she  was  here?  I  think  she  will  have  the  real 
fruits  of  spiritual  struggle  to  give  to  others. 

She  has  thought  on  the  vision,  and  heard  the  knock- 


Aet.  35  405 

ings  of  those  that  seek  her.  "I  think  any  one  would 
admit,"  she  said,  "that  in  my  life  I  have  had  more 
than  my  fair  share  of  —  "  "  sorrows,"  I  expected,  but 
no,  —  "  blessings." 

Some  day  I  must  tell  you  more  of  what  she  said. 

Now  good-bye,  darling. 

From  your  own 

SISTER. 
To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER,  July  31. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

This  last  month  there  has  not  been  a  day  —  hardly 
an  hour  —  when  I  have  not  longed  for  Mrs.  Whitman 
and  rejoiced  with  her,  and  I  know  you  feel  the  same, 
and  often  have  a  dreary  sense  of  being  far  away  and 
a-hunger  for  news. 

We  who  love  her  gather  together  and  something  of 
her  spirit  falls  upon  us  —  she  who  in  "the  midmost 
heart  of  grief  "  always  "  clasped  the  secret  joy."  What 
a  brave,  forward-looking  life  —  full  of  sympathy  and 
strength  and  work! 

"Life,  I  repeat,  is  energy  of  love,"  and  how  gladly 
she  spent  and  was  spent  for  us! 

We  were  weary,  and  we 
Fearful,  and  we  in  our  march 
Fain  to  drop  down  and  to  die ; 
Still  thou  turnedst,  and  still 
Beckonest  the  trembler,  and  still 
Gavest  the  weary  thy  hand. 

Every  one  has  written  you,  but  have  they  dwelt 
enough  on  the  beautiful  end  of  that  heroic  life?  After 
those  tragic  months  —  years  almost — of  feverish  strug- 


406  1904 

gle  against  increasing  pain  and  weakness  it  is  a  comfort 
to  know  there  was  "  peace  at  the  last."  She  said  once 
to  Mrs.  Parkman  in  those  last  days,  "  Well,  it  has  been 
good,  hasn't  it?  for  it  has  been  answering  to  the  Spirit." 
And  then  again,  "Oh!  how  wonderful,  how  beautiful, 
the  inner  Innerness  of —  "  then  she  stopped  as  if  rapt 
in  some  vision.  "  I  adore  Him,"  she  said  of  our  Lord, 
and  over  and  over  again,  "  Good-bye,  darling,  bless  you! 
that's  all  I'll  say  just  now,  but  love  to  everybody  and 
all's  serene." 

In  her  death,  as  in  her  life,  she  bore  witness  to  the 
light,  —  and  we  lift  up  our  hearts  unto  the  Lord,  remem- 
bering her. 

These  are  our  pillar  fires, 
Seen  as  we  go, 

They  are  that  City's  shining  spires 
We  travel  to. 

And  we  have  been  her  friends  and  learnt  what  friend- 
ship may  mean. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE  W.  S. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  1st. 

Dearest  Teeny,  so  with  the  Jungfrau  for  a  back- 
ground you  have  seen  my  tender-eyed  Little  Cock? 

So  Mr.  Paine  went  to  Berne  on  Peace  business?  Has 
he  converted  those  bun-eating  bears?  and  did  he  read  an 
article  in  the  "Spectator"  on  the  "Idealism  of  War"? 
It  seemed  to  me  quite  interesting  as  an  answer  to  Tol- 
stoi. Give  him  my  dear  love. 


Aet.  35  407 

Yesterday  Mamma  went  to  Emanuel  and  heard  Bishop 
McVickar.  Today  the  Weston-Smiths  scatter  for  their 
fortnight's  vacation.  Dickson  has  been  working  hard 
enough  to  really  need  it,  and  Anstiss  hasn't  picked 
up  yet  from  her  lightning  experience.  She  doesn't  yet 
like  being  left  in  the  house  alone.  As  for  me,  my  feel- 
ing about  thunderstorms  was  always  a  matter  of  pure 
unreason,  so  the  knowledge  that  something  sometimes 
really  does  happen  rather  steadies  my  nerves  than 
otherwise. 

Do  you  remember  saying  when  you  went  to  town  for 
the  day  remarkable  events  took  place?  This  was  an 
example  of  "  Ellen  Emmons's  ten  ten-strikes"  with  a 
vengeance. 

News  I  have  none  —  seeing  you  have  promised  to  read 
a  fat  red  tome  full  of  daily  lists  of  birds  when  you  get 
home.  Mamma  sleeps  well  and  Pussy  is  adorable. 
Evenings  we  have  chills  and  fever  over  Stanley  Wey- 
man, — daytimes  we  toy  with  the  "Outlook,"  and 
wish  the  Negro-problem  had  never  been  invented.  A 
' '  distinguished  Southern  Educator  "  apparently  thinks 
the  root  of  the  evil  in  colored  schools  is  that  the  litera- 
ture presented  to  their  minds  is  full  of  white  heroes  and 
heroines.  This  is  the  Black  Letter  Press  with  a  ven- 
geance! May  they  read  "  Othello,"  or  would  that  "  put 
vanilla  beans  up  their  chocolate  nose"?  He  seriously 
suggests  that  in  their  primers  after  B  0  Y  a  small  negro 
should  appear  in  the  woodcut  —  also  after  6r  I  R  L  (to 
teach  chivalry  for  their  own  race,  presumably);  I  sug- 
gested that  FRUIT  should  be  illustrated  by  water- 
melon!!  Do  I  see  a  frown  on  the  face  of  my  Linkstress? 
then  let  me  pass  to  more  harmless  jests! 

Mamma  too  likes  watermelons  and  lemon  pie,  but 


408  1904 

peaches  she  won't  eat  unless  cut  up  and  sugared 
heavily. 

I  tell  her  it  looks  as  if  she  had  only  a  sweet  tooth 
that  wobbled. 

I  am  afraid  Mamma  would  "  look  long  at  a  five-cent 
stamp"  before  sending  so  frivolous  a  letter  as  this. 
But  a  Nanny  Dog  must  needs  be  waggish. 


My  precious  child, 


To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  5. 


Ethel's  cheery  letter  was  a  real  comfort  to  Gamdge, 
tell  her.  I  am  really  proud  of  that  woman,  who  looks 
like  the  Co-operative  Cauliflower,  and  under  the  kindly 
influence  of  Mary,  the  cook,  is  beginning  to  find  that 
she  needs  to  be  the  Judicious  Hooker  if  she  is  to  get  into 
her  gowns  at  all. 

The  first  week  after  you  left  I  kept  her  pretty  anx- 
ious, and  she  showed  it,  but  now  she  looks  rested  and 
blooming.  Early  bed,  few  fellow-creatures,  two  short 
drives  a  day,  agree  with  her,  to  say  nothing  of  an  hour 
and  a  half  of  solid  sleep  every  afternoon.  She  wants 
you  to  know  that  "when  the  mouse  is  away  the  cat 
will  nap,"  and  that  the  mouse  does  occasionally  go  the 
grand  tour  is  proved  by  his  being  seen — in  however 
lowly  a  position  —  at  the  diamond  jubilee. 

We  miss  Dickson  and  his  evening  calls,  but  he  seems 
to  be  having  a  pleasant  time  on  the  blue  Kennebec,  and 
writes  that  he  had  a  dear  letter  from  you. 


Aet.  35  409 

Except  little  scraps  of  conversation,  and  a  few  mild 
jests,  what  have  I  to  tell  you? 

We  have  decided  the  reason  nohody  in  bird  books  sees 
any  feathered  friends  in  August  is  because  they  are  all 
here.  The  Thrushes  still  sing  and  my  sunny  pine  tops 
are  just  full  of  young  Warblers  playing  tag.  I  saw 
twenty-five  kinds  of  bird  yesterday,  and  among  them  a 
dear  Indigo,  who  sat  on  the  suet  branch,  the  piazza  rail, 
and  Blue's  cage  fifteen  minutes  by  Shrewsbury  clock. 
But,  oh!  my  bird  of  birds  —  "half  angel  and  half  bird " 

—  there's   nae  luck  about  the  house   when  my  gude 

Mauve's  awa'. 

Her  ain 

AULD  NANNIE. 
To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  9. 
Dearest  Paulina, 

It  is  a  beautiful  day,  cool  and  sparkling,  and  Mamma 
has  gone  to  Dr.  Donald's  funeral. 

Our  hearts  have  been  very  full  of  him  these  last  weeks 

—  ever  since  we  heard  the  solemn  word  "dying,"  which 
is  always  new  and  sudden,  however  long  expected. 

He  has  always  been  a  kind  friend  to  this  family. 

Mercifully,  the  pain  stopped  at  the  last,  but  it  has 
been  a  long,  hard  crossing,  and,  for  the  rest,  it  has  all 
been  so  tragically  piteous  that  it  takes  one  by  the  throat. 
If  every  one  had  been  as  generous  and  affectionate  and 
loyal  as  Mr.  Paine! 

There  Blame  deserts,  there  his  unfaltering  dogs 
He  from  the  chase  recalls,  and  homeward  rides, 
Yet  Praise  and  Love  pass  over  and  go  in. 


410  1904 

Our  neighbor,  Mr.  Weston,  died  suddenly  the  other 
night,  which  will  make  the  poor  "  Owl "  long  more  than 
ever  to  be  at  home.  It  seems  sometimes  as  tho'  no  sound 
reached  across  the  ocean  but  the  knelling  of  bells. 

This  morning  I  saw  the  first  Golden-winged  Warbler 
and  (with  the  first  red  leaf  on  the  sumachs)  he  made 
me  realize,  with  a  pang,  that  summer  is  on  the  wane. 
Such  a  beautiful  summer,  with  what  Shakespeare  calls 
"shiny  nights." 

A  Song-sparrow  feeds  on  the  path  now  and  sings  grace 
—  but  the  Cardinal  mystery  is  still  unsolved.  That  big, 
striped  young  one  was  the  authentic  "Baby  Sphinx." 
It  was,  line  for  line,  a  female  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak, 
and  yet  — 

Do  you  think  they  could  have  hired  a  baby  to  hold 
under  their  shawl  while  they  sang,  "  Who  will  buy  my 
sweet  lavender?  " 

I  really  am  better,  not  worth  much  —  but  very  grate- 
ful when  I  realize  how  I  was  the  first  two  or  three 
weeks  after  you  left  —  and  how  I  am  now. 

Pussy  is  getting  fond  of  Sophie,  but  she  is  never  gush- 
ing, you  know. 

Congo  is  still  weeping  for  his  lost  family,  tho'  we  do 
our  best.  Indeed,  he  has  blacked  himself  all  over  for 
the  part  of  chief  mourner,  and  sits  on  their  doorsteps 
singing  the  coronach.  Bella's  island  is  a  great  success 
even  tho'  no  Ferdinand  in  the  form  of  a  hired  Harvard 
student  has  been  wrecked  there  yet. 

You  get  an  occasional  communication  from  Mrs. 
Carderelli  and  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Rita  Crombie  —  which 
we  answer. 


Aet.  35  411 

But  what  is  a  letter  without  a  conversation  between 
the  two  familiar  dramatis  personae? 

A.  Virginia  would  like  you  to  buy  her  some  currants 
to  keep  her  bill  pink. 

Mrs.  S.    Would  blueberries  do  as  well? 

We  dote. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

August  12. 
My  precious  Baby, 

I  must  begin  my  tomorrow's  letter  today  —  not  that 
I  intend,  tell  that  brutal  Linkstress,  to  write  the  kind 
of  birthday  letter  she  does,  which  leaves  the  recipient 
bathed  in  blushes  and  tears. 

Lily  and  I  were  talking  of  the  futility  of  attempting 

to  cheer with  such  vacant  chaff  as  * '  gaining  a  new 

sister,"  even  if  it  were  not  rather  blasphemous  to  fling 
round  the  name  of  sister,  which  ' '  we  two  knew  the 
meaning  of." 

"Perhaps  'new'  makes  the  distinction,"  Lily  sug- 
gested, but  I  told  her  a  new  sister  was  what  I  gained 
thirty-two  years  ago  this  very  Friday.  She  was  dear 
then,  but  her  dearness  has  gone  multiplying  like  the 
nails  in  that  horseshoe. 

Aug.  13. 

Sophie  is  bustling  about  all  smiles,  for  her  Ida  comes 
this  afternoon  —  and  like  Kitty  her  attendant  is  more 
affectionate  than  she  likes  to  own  up  to. 

I  shall  be  glad  to  have  another  mouth  to  feed  for  the 
sake  of  Hilton  and  Woodward. 

You  never  saw  such  ridiculous  letters  as  I  write  them. 
Occasionally  —  as  an  encouragement  —  we  ask  the  price 


412  1904 

of  things  which  we  don't  buy.  Last  time,  as  I  told 
Mamma,  we  were  very  dashing  and  inquired  the  price 
of  tame  ducks.  Ducks,  mark  you  —  instead  of  the 
market  value  of  half  a  tame  duck. 

By  the  way,  isn't  that  what  I  am,  now  my  Siamese 
has  been  cut  from  me?  or  is  it  half  a  wild  goose? 

I  had  a  delightful  call  from  Miss  Ida  Mason  last 
evening.  She  came  after  Diana  so  she  was  contraband 
goods,  but  "nice  customs  curtsey  to  great  Kings"  and 
she  only  comes  to  the  Winthrops  twice  a  summer  for 
one  night.  She  gave  me  good  accounts  of  Mrs.  Perkins 
who  had  had  her  house  filled  with  young  descendants 
who  needed  her  —  which,  tho'  somewhat  fatiguing,  has 
been  cheerful  and  comforting. 

It  is  another  glorious  Autumnal  morning  and  I  have 
sent  Mamma  out  to  call  on  Mrs.  Morse  and  Mrs.  Dalton. 
I  am  so  glad  you  saw  Mrs.  Dexter,  "and  now,"  as 
Mamma  said  in  triumph,  "I  have  something  to  tell 
her."  It  is  news,  you  know,  that  she  met  you.  We 
celebrated  your  birthday  last  evening  by  opening  a  new 
box  of  Page  and  Shaw. 

And  now  "  my  dearly  beloved  and  longed-for,  my  joy 
and  crown  —  so  stand  fast  in  the  Lord,  dearly  beloved." 

Your  own  loving  old  only 

SISTER. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  Aug.  17th. 

Darling  Teeny,  think  of  this  being  almost  the  last  let- 
ter! That  seems  so  near,  that  three  weeks  and  two  days 
—  which  it  is  literally — seems  dreadfully  long. 

When  I  feel  rather  desolate  I  say  "Rockets!  "  which 


Aet.  35  413 

means  I  am  sinking,  wrecked  in  deep  waters  and  send- 
ing up  signals  of  distress,  but  Gamdge,  who  is  the  only 
lighthouse  within  reach,  has  let  out  her  lamp  and  is  not 
even  looking  seaward,  she  says,  but  in  her  kitchen  eat- 
ing apple- tarts. 

You  needn't  expect  to  find  a  sensible  family  when  you 
get  home.  We  are  exactly  the  same,  if  not  more  so. 

Mamma  is  still  human  and  Mrs.  Linnet-like.  I  tell 
her  I  don't  dare  quote  Coleridge  to  her  for  fear  she'll 
say  he  was  the  man  who  took  opium  and  left  his  chil- 
dren for  Sou  they  to  bring  up.  As  for  Watts,  the  artist, 
she  can  only  look  on  him  as  the  first  husband  of  Ellen 
Terry! 

I  had  a  most  charming  letter  from  Ellen  at  her  French 
chateau.  We  felt  as  tho'  we  were  there  in  the  hot  sun- 
shine. 

Was  it  too  hot  for  her  to  get  to  Paris  to  see  you? 

We  read  the  accounts  of  European  heat  as  if  it  were 
a  dream.  We  stayed  in  Spring-time  and  now  Autumn 
has  come,  and  the  birds,  instead  of  singing,  talk  eagerly 
of  the  South.  It  is  sad  work,  but  "  who  can  keep  the 
bird  from  following  the  flown  Summer?  "  Each  morn- 
ing when  the  Cardinals  come  up  to  breakfast  I  am  grate- 
ful my  dear  tailless  Virginia  hasn't  decided  to  climb  to 
Florida  from  bush  to  bush. 

Your  own  Permanent  Resident. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  HOOPER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  18. 
Dearest  Ellen, 

Your  tissue  paper  played  the  part  of  a  magic  carpet 
and  transported  us  to  your  charming  French  chateau, 
lying  so  peaceful  under  the  hot  sunshine.  I  wish  the 


4:14  1904: 

sunshine  hadn't  been  quite  so  hot  on  your  account  — 
and  did  you  see  my  children? 

Paulina's  letters  today  are  still  tremulous  with  the 
vision  and  glory  of  Chartres  Cathedral. 

I  am  glad  Mrs.  Whitman  had  it  before  she  died.  I 
say  died,  but  I  can't  believe  it  —  can't  believe  that  I 
shall  touch  her  hand  no  more.  As  when  your  father 
went,  I  understood  it  best  lying  out  in  the  quiet  hours 
of  sunrise  and  sunset. 

Mrs.  Dow  came  to  see  me  one  afternoon,  and  I  am  so 
glad  you  told  me  of  her. 

As  for  Diana,  she  comes  once  a  week,  and  I  am  some- 
times cheered  and  sometimes  much  discouraged  about 
her  health  —  but  always  profoundly  impressed  by  the 
gallant  struggle  she  is  making  —  Jacob's  struggle  "in 
the  darkness  with  the  unseen." 

I  miss  you  every  minute  and  my  Ethel  —  as  for  Paul- 
ina —  but  we  are  doing  bravely  and  every  one  is  most 
kind  and  devoted. 

Gamdge  and  I  have  merry  times  together  and  read 
exciting  novels  and  take  early  beds.  The  first  two  or 
three  weeks  I  kept  her  very  anxious,  but  she  has  had 
time  to  pick  up  since  and  looks  remarkably  well. 

My  birds  are  more  fascinating  than  ever,  but  alas! 
the  Thrushes  have  ceased  singing  and  the  little  warblers 
are  gathering  up  their  feather  skirts  to  be  gone. 

Paulina  writes  that  she  has  seen  Storks!  but  they  are 
not  confined  to  Europe. 

And  now,  my  darling,  good-bye  and  God  bless  you 

and  bring  you  safe  home  to 

Your 

NANNY. 


Aet.  35  415 

To  HER  SISTER. 

August  19,  20,  21. 

Here's  a  fat  letter  for  my  darling  to  put  under  her 
pillow  so  long  as  they  won't  let  her  stick  hatpins  into 
the  air-mattress  —  and  is  she  really  coming  home  — 
leaving  all  the  glories  and  the  visions  behind  her  on  the 
mountains  because  "  love  dwelleth  in  the  valley  "  ? 

I  am  glad  Mrs.  Whitman  saw  Chartres  before  she 
died.  I  was  struck,  in  reading  Coleridge's  translation 
of  ' '  Wallenstein  "  the  other  day,  with  something  Wal- 
lenstein  says  after  Max  is  killed: 

This  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I  know  — 
What  pang  is  permanent  with  man  ? 
For  the  strong  hours  conquer  him  — 
Yet  I  feel  what  I  have  lost  in  him. 
The  bloom  is  banished  from  my  life. 

The  strong  hours  do  conquer  us — the  pang  is  "grieved 
down  "  somehow,  but  I  think  the  dumb,  numb  heartache 
is  much  the  worst  to  bear. 

Mamma  is  gone  to  town  —  she  and  Dickson,  to  put 
their  arms  round  the  poor  little  Chief  Justice. 

It  needs  a  good  deal  of  coaxing  to  make  Gamdge 
desert  her  post  even  for  a  few  hours,  but  when  she  in- 
terferes with  my  Napoleonic  plans  I  call  her  "Grouchy  " 
—  with  the  pronunciation  in  the  English  mode. 

My  plans,  as  you  may  guess,  are  more  of  the  ' '  Poli- 
tique  de  Longwood  "  than  of  the  haute  politique. 

Where,  for  instance,  Sophie  and  Ida  shall  drive. 

A  happier  pair  you  never  saw,  and  Sophie  deserves  it 
after  her  enthusiastic  devotion  to  all  her  strange  duties. 


416  1904 

I  tell  her  she  must  have  printed  on  her  business  cards, 
"  Currying  cats  a  specialty." 

Oh!  Mauvaise!  your  little  charge  is  more  bewitching 
than  ever.  As  she  lies  sleeping  on  my  bed  I  have  fas- 
tened on  her  collar.  So  that  if  she  did  get  lost,  you 
know!! 

She  sends  you  a  hard,  rubbing  kiss,  preceded  by  a 
curtsey  —  one  of  her  curtseys! 

Aug.  20. 

To  go  back  to  "  Wallenstein,"  which  we've  been  read- 
ing —  Mamma  turned  so  eagerly  to  the  Piccolomini  that 
I  told  her  she  thought  "  Tiny  Tim  "  was  the  hero. 

We've  left  the  Thirty  Years'  War  now  and  the  French 
Revolution,  and  betaken  ourselves  to  ' '  Silas  Lapham. " 

It  seems  rather  quiet  —  indeed,  the  Lapham  family 
life  at  the  South  End  is  almost  as  quiet  as  ours  now. 

Did  you  know  Mrs.  Dexter,  in  her  last  letter,  still 
hopes  we  have  visitors?  Tho',  unless  we  had  the  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon  and  kept  him  immured  in  the  parlor  — 

There  is  the  greatest  thumping  overhead,  where 
Mamma  and  William  and  Ben  pursue  the  imaginary 
buffalo  bug  among  the  trunks.  William,  who  keeps  a 
marshal's  baton  in  the  whipholder,  is  ordering  Ben 
about  with  great  zeal. 

He  said  of  Mr. the  other  day  that  he  was  "fear- 
ful! fearful!  "  but,  as  I  told  Mamma,  his  only  other  ex- 
pression, "A  perfect  little  beauty,  "was  hardly  appli- 
cable. 

It's  blowing  a  gale  outside  and  there  is  no  letter. 
Yesterday  one  from  Ethel. 

Your  Paris  news  seems  a  happy  mixture  of  cathedrals 
and  restaurants  —  le  tour  d'Eglise  and  le  tour  d' Argent. 

I  merely  mention  one  of  our  entremets: 


Aet.  35  417 

11  Doughnuts  a  la  Princess  Colonna!  " 

If  only  this  storm  would  stop  howling  —  but  it  started 
in  St.  Louis  and  has  swept  over  the  whole  country  — 
drowning  New  York  city  in  rain.  Virginia  and  her 
Cardinal,  when  they  leave  the  safe  harbour  of  the  hem- 
lock hedge  to  eat,  anchor  themselves  tight  to  the  edge 
of  the  bird-table  and  reef  their  top-gallant  crests. 

Sunday,  Aug.  21. 

A  glorious,  bright  morning,  with  the  weather  pretend- 
ing it  has  never  done  anything  but  smile,  and  who  will 
be  here  Sunday  —  after-next  —  after-next,  to  listen  to 
the  Baptist  Church  bells,  from  her  nest  among  the 
tree-tops?  "J'ai  vaincu  le  participe  passe"  is  noth- 
ing to  mentally  conquering  the  paulo-post  future,  and 
realizing  that  when  you  get  this  the  wonder-world  will 
lie  behind  you  as  a  dream  when  one  awakeneth. 

By  means  of  scraps  of  paper,  in  the  form  of  postcards, 
these  hounds  of  affection  have  tracked  their  fox  as  far 
as  Amiens.  But  England  seems  only  a  bright  blur. 

Did  you  see  Sir  Louis  at  last  and  Mary  Beaumont?  — 
but  of  course  you  must  —  and  Professor  Cunningham 
and  that  nouveau  ricJie,  the  Duke  of  Argyle? 

Tell  Ethel  all  my  callers  are  nice,  but  three  of  them  I 
love  through  and  through  —  with  my  soul,  as  well  as  my 
heart — and  they  are  Mrs.  Higginson  and  Miss  Fanny 
Morse  and  her  Lily. 

And  now  good-bye,  darling,  and  God  bless  you  all  and 
bring  you  safe  home  to 

Your  loving 

ALICE. 


418  1904 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

MANCHESTER, 

All  Saints'  Day. 
Dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

Today,  when  we  try  to  enter  more  closely  into  the 
Communion  of  Saints  our  friends  who  are  separated 
from  us  —  not  only  by  death,  but  absence  —  seem  very 
near.  You  and  Ellen  are  with  me —  tho'  I  do  long  to 
hear  your  voices  and  feel  the  touch  of  your  hands. 

When  we  reach  "  48  "  on  Thursday  there  will  be  no 
yellow  flower  in  my  room  with  your  welcome,  will  there? 
But  the  love  will  be  there,  I  know.  It  is  a  sad  winter 
that  is  beginning,  and  my  heart  grows  faint  and  sick 
when  I  think  of  driving  past  Mrs.  Whitman's  empty 
house.  But  not  when  I  think  of  her.  After  all,  the 
earthly  homes  are  but  "an  image  of  the  heavenly." 
The  little  memorial  pamphlet  has  reached  you  by  this 
time,  and  wasn't  Richard  Cabot's  speech  beautiful? 
Her  own  words  are  like  a  trumpet  call. 

Some  day  I  must  write  and  tell  you  of  all  Paulina's 
Convention  doings  —  and  Dickson's  enthusiasm  over  all 
the  heroic  pioneer  work  the  Church  is  doing.  Monday  I 
had  a  long  and  most  interesting  call  from  Bishop  Brent. 
He  is  a  splendid  man,  doing  a  splendid  work,  and  talks 
with  a  sober  hopefulness  that  fills  one  with  confidence. 

Indeed,  I  do  know  how  you  are  feeling  about  Susie  — 
and  the  joy  for  her  and  the  personal  loneliness  and  the 
sad  new  beginning.  I  am  sorry  you  are  not  going  to 
cuddle  down  into  our  nest,  which  is  torn  too  with  time 
and  storms.  One  day  at  a  time,  and  God  with  us.  He 
who  is  "  the  same  yesterday,  today  and  forever." 

Yours  lovingly, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  36  419 

To  Miss  ELLEN  HOOPER. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 
November  12th. 

Thirty-two  years  ago  today,  when  I  was  four  years 
and  two  days  old,  and  quite  unconscious  of  my  good  for- 
tune, Ellen  Hooper  was  born  —  in  Brookline,  was  it?  — 
to  make  the  world  a  different  place  to  some  of  us. 

Oh,  my  dear,  I  wish  we  had  you  here  this  winter. 

Beginnings  are  heavy  work  and  make  us  realize  how 
many  things  have  ended  for  us  here. 

Have  you  seen  the  Memorial  of  Mrs.  Whitman  yet? 
—  but  of  course  you  have  —  and  the  extracts  of  her  let- 
ters to  Richard  Cabot?  They  are  so  full  of  her  and  the 
spirit  in  which  she  lived  and  loved. 

Mrs.  Parkman  is  taking  her  Bible  Class,  which  seems 
beautiful  and  fitting,  does  it  not?  And  the  money  for 
the  memorial  window  at  Radcliffe  has  been  raised. 
Radcliffe  makes  me  think  of  Mrs.  Agassiz,  who  is  mar- 
vellously better,  the  cloud  quite  lifted  from  her  mind 
and  the  old  peace  and  sunshine  come  back. 

Mrs.  Higginson  was  radiant  over  it  when  she  was  here 
Thursday. 

But  she  brought  us  word  that  you  were  poorly  —  so 
poorly,  we  gathered,  in  a  vague  way,  that  we  were 
greatly  relieved  to  hear  the  facts  from  Ethel. 

So  you  are  to  go  to  Spain  ' '  with  April  and  the  swal- 
low" to  say  nothing  of  the  nightingale,  when  the 
oranges  and  pomegranates  are  in  bloom  in  the  garden 
of  the  Alhambra?  It  sounds  so  beautiful  that  we  are 
almost  reconciled  to  not  putting  our  arms  round  you 
for  still  another  month.  Almost,  but  not  quite.  In 
Spain  or  Egypt  we  hold  you  close  in  our  hearts. 

Your  NANNY. 


420  1905 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

Because  thou  servedst  not  the  Lord  thy  God  with  joy- 
fulness  and  with  gladness  of  heart. 

Mercy  is  not  in  any  way  inconsistent  with  justice,  but 
only  the  riper  form,  of  it.  Now  of  the  ancients,  for  the 
most  part,  it  may  be  said  that  they  had  not  enough  jus- 
tice to  have  any  mercy.  —  "  Ecce  Homo." 

He  left  the  solution  to  Jehovah  and  made  the  grief 
his  own.  Neither  he  nor  any  other  sufferer  of  the  olden 
time  could  analyze  the  cup  which  the  Father  had  given 
him  to  drink.  .  .  .  It  is  divinely  strange  that  his 
strengthening  and  confidence  came  not  with  a  promise 
of  relief  and  comfort,  but  with  an  assurance  that  his 
present  conflict  was  but  a  foretaste  of  sterner  and  more 
agonizing  strife.  "  For  thou  hast  run  against  footmen 
and  they  wearied  thee;  then  how  wilt  thou  compete 
with  horses? "  The  rock  which  dashed  his  ship  to 
pieces  bore  him  up,  wounded  and  bleeding,  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  breakers.  —  McCuRDY  on  Jeremiah. 

Pity  was  to  be  henceforth  no  stranger,  greeted  occa- 
sionally, but  a  familiar  companion  and  bosom  friend. 

"Ecce  Homo." 

That  is  the  real  use  of  a  high  standard,  that  it  should 
be  something  that  enables  one  to  help  others  from  their 
own  point  of  view,  not  to  change  all  at  once  that  point 
of  view  to  one's  own.  —  CREIGHTON. 

Hope  is  the  mark  of  all  the  souls  whom  God  has  made 
His  friends.  —  DANTE. 


Aet.  36  421 

The  Crucifix  stood  there  —  a  perpetual  reminder  that 
happiness  is  not  an  end,  but  an  accident,  and  that  pain 
is  the  choice  of  the  magnanimous.  —  STEVENSON. 

They,  like  men  indeed,  fortifying  courage  with  the 
true  rampart  of  patience,  did  so  endure,  as  they  did 
rather  appear  governors  of  necessity  than  servants  to 
fortune.  —  SIR  PHILIP  SYDNEY. 

Do  valiantly  and  hope  confidently  and  wait  patiently. 

JEREMY  TAYLOR. 

I  must  bear  it  inevitably  and  I  will  by  God's  help  bear 
it  nobly. 

By  Friendship  I  mean  the  greatest  love,  and  the  great- 
est usefulness,  and  the  most  open  communication,  and 
the  noblest  sufferings,  and  the  most  exemplary  faithful- 
ness, and  the  severest  truth,  and  the  heartiest  counsel, 
and  the  greatest  union  of  mind  of  which  brave  men 
and  women  are  capable.  —  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 

A  man  cannot  touch  his  neighbor's  heart  with  any- 
thing less  than  his  own.  — GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

Unless  you  are  deliberately  kind  to  every  one  you 
meet  you  will  be  unintentionally  cruel  every  day  of 
your  life.  —  RUSKIN. 

Sunrise  should  mean  for  us,  as  for  the  Greeks,  daily 
restoration  to  the  sense  of  passionate  gladness  and  of 
perfect  life  —  the  thrilling  of  new  strength  through 
every  nerve  —  the  shedding  over  us  of  a  better  peace 
than  the  peace  of  night  in  the  power  of  the  dawn. 

RUSKIN. 


422  1905 

It  may  be  truly  said  that  in  working  out  his  salvation 
the  invalid  needs  the  heart  of  a  chevalier,  the  soul  of  a 
believer  and  the  temperament  of  a  martyr;  and  more 
than  any  other  mortal  he  has  to  learn  to  put  his  trust 
in  the  strength  of  the  spirit.  —  LEIGH  HUNT. 

It  [suffering]  taught  me  the  worth  of  little  pleasures 
as  well  as  the  utility  and  dignity  of  great  pains. 

LEIGH  HUNT. 

My  body  suffers  great  pain,  but  my  soul  is  as  quiet 
as  a  mirror,  and  has  sometimes  fine  sunrises  and  sun- 
sets. —  HEINE. 

Our  business  in  this  world  is  not  to  succeed,  but  to 
continue  to  fail  in  good  spirits. 

Little  do  ye  know  your  own  blessedness,  for  to  travel 
hopefully  is  a  better  thing  than  to  arrive,  and  the  true 
success  is  to  labor. 

And  even  if  death  catch  people  like  an  open  pitfall  in 
mid  career  .  .  .  does  not  life  go  down  with  better  grace 
foaming  in  full  body  over  a  precipice  than  miserably 
straggling  to  an  end  in  sandy  deltas?  —  STEVENSON. 

Some  far  home-grief  that  hath  bowed  her  low. 

Can  that  joy  old, 

Or  friends  once  linked  in  sunshine,  when  the  cold 

Storm  falleth,  not  together  meet  the  sea  ? 

MURRAY'S  translation  of  "  Euripides." 

But  when  a  whole  life  one  long  battle  is. 

The  bitter  tide  of  calamity  has  risen  above  her  lips. 


Aet.  36  423 

In  new-shed  tears  for  sorrow  long  gone  by. 

On  the  Death  of  Her  Cat. 

Are  not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing  and  one  of 
them  shall  not  fall  to  the  ground  without  your  Father? 

With  Love's  too  precious  to  be  lost, 
A  little  grain  shall  not  be  spilt. 

And  the  creature  shall  be  delivered  from  the  bondage 
of  corruption. 

The  hostility  between  man  and  the  beasts  not  only 
formed  once  upon  a  time  the  chief  material  obstacle  in 
the  progress  of  the  race,  but  remains  still,  to  the  reli- 
gious thinker,  the  most  pathetic  portion  of  that  groan- 
ing and  travailing  of  all  creation  which  is  so  heavy  a 
burden  on  his  heart.  —  GEORGE  ADAM  SMITH. 

Ripae  ulterioris  amor  —  the  love  of  the  other  shore. 

Ignem  sui  amoris  accendat  Deus  in  cordibus  nostris. 
Amen. 

One  of  the  old  Fathers  said  of  Christ,  "  He  dwelt  in  a 
tent  of  the  same  material  as  ours." 

Let  me  speak  — 

Who  may  not  speak  again  — 

Whose  spirit  yearns 
For  a  cool  night  after  this  weary  day. 

The  common  Semitic  word  for  God,  El,  denotes  ety- 


424  1905 

mologically  the  goal;  that  is,  him  or  that  to  which  all 
human  longing  aspires,  or  must  aspire. 

CORNILL'S  "  Prophets  of  Israel." 

His  windows  being  open  to  Jerusalem.  —  DANIEL. 

All  is  well. 

Had  He  not  turned  us  in  His  hand  and  thrust 
Our  high  things  low  and  shook  our  hills  as  dust, 
We  had  not  been  this  splendour,  nor  our  wrong 
An  everlasting  music  for  the  song 
Of  earth  and  heaven. 

Go,  women,  lay  our  dead 
In  His  low  sepulchre.     He  had  His  meed  of  garlanding. 

'Tis  we,  'tis  we, 
That  dream,  we  living. 

From  GILBERT  MURRAY'S  translation  of 

"  The  Trojan  Woman." 

Anniversary  of  Mrs.  Whitman's  death,  June  24. 

If  beautiful  to  me  while  still  in  sight, 
How  beautiful  must  be  your  aspects  now ; 
Your  unknown,  well-known  aspects  in  that  light 
Which  clouds  shall  never  cloud  for  evermore. 

For  to  miss  joy  is  to  miss  all.  —  STEVENSON. 

Jesus  made  love  and  humility  one.  Humility  is  not 
a  virtue  by  itself;  but  it  is  pure  receptivity,  the  ex- 
pression of  inner  need,  the  prayer  for  God's  grace  and 
forgiveness  and,  in  a  word,  the  opening  up  of  the  heart 
to  God.  —  HARNACK. 


Aet.  36  425 

And  Jesus  was  left  alone  and  the  woman  standing  in 
the  midst.  —  St.  John,  viii,  9. 

Two  persons  were  left.  Augustine  says,  "The  un- 
happy woman  and  Compassion  Incarnate." 

(Relicta  sunt  duo  miser  a  et  miser  icordia.) 

The  story  of  the  life  of  one  to  whom  love  was  the 
supreme  revealer,  and  life  but  an  opportunity  for  loving. 

From  Creighton's  Life. 

All  one  can  do  is  to  watch  the  conflict  and  be  ready 
to  cheer  the  combatant  when  weary.  But  remember, 
the  cheering  must  not  be  cowardly.  It  is  no  good  say- 
ing to  the  panting,  struggling  creature,  ' '  How  hard  it 
is  for  you  to  have  to  fight  the  battle.  I  don't  want  to 
help  the  soldiers  to  groan,  I  want  to  get  them  to  win." 

To  obtain  first  a  secure  mooring  for  one's  self  among 
the  tempestuous  sea  of  doubts  and  passions  and  dif- 
ficulties, and  then  to  be  ready  to  warn  others  from  ship- 
wreck, or  to  save  them  when  they  are  shipwrecked; 
this  is  all  we  can  do. 

We  cannot  get  others  to  steer  by  our  own  charts  or 
follow  our  course.  —  CREIGHTON. 

Sunday,  October  22,  1905. 

It  is  easier  to  win  spoils  from  death  than  to  keep  them 
untarnished  by  life.  Shame  burns  warm  in  a  soldier's 
heart  when  he  sees  the  arms  he  risked  death  to  win 
rusting  for  want  of  a  little  care.  Ours  will  not  burn 
less  if  we  discover  that  the  strength  of  character  we 
brought  with  us  out  of  some  great  tribulation  has  been 
slowly  weakened  by  subsequent  self-indulgence  or  van- 


426  1905 

ity.  How  awful  to  have  fought  for  character  with 
death  only  to  squander  it  upon  life!  It  is  well  to  keep 
praying,  "My  God,  suffer  me  not  to  forget  my  bonds 
and  my  bitterness."  —  GEORGE  ADAM  SMITH. 

Nov.  1905. 

Anguish  gave  way  to  sympathy.  The  mystery  be- 
came the  stimulus  to  a  mission. 

The  Just  shall  live  by  f aithf ulness  —  steadfastness. 

HABAKKUK. 

Happiness  is  growth  into  the  purpose  of  the  world. 

CREIGHTON. 
Shelley  says,  — 

Who,  when  my  being  overflowed, 
Was  like  a  chalice  to  bright  wine, 
Which  else  had  sunk  into  the  thirsty  earth. 

It  is  all  there.  One's  being  overflows;  there  are 
thoughts  which  it  is  hard  to  express;  one  does  not 
know  their  value;  if  there  is  no  one  to  receive  them 
they  sink  into  the  earth  and  leave  no  trace. 

But  love  is  there  with  a  golden  chalice  to  catch  them 
and  show  their  brightness  another  beauty  and  make 
them  a  perpetual  possession. 

Life  has  no  more  to  give  than  the  opportunity  of  lov- 
ing service.  —  CREIGHTON. 

Sympathy  cannot  be  cultivated  in  itself;  it  has  no 
rules.  It  is  born  of  insight  and  rests  on  respect.  It  is 
the  result  of  all  life's  training. 


Aet.  36  427 

The  Christian,  through  submission  to  God,  is  con- 
stantly growing  out  of  selfish  ideals  into  a  perception 
of  the  world  as  God's  world. 

But  this  process  is  never  completed  here.  All  he  can 
hope  to  do  is  to  carry  away  the  rudiments  of  a  teachable 
soul  to  face  the  knowledge  of  the  hereafter. 

CREIGHTON. 

Infinite  pity  is  needed  for  the  infinite  pathos  of  human 
life. 


428  1905 

To  MRS.  COPLEY  AMORY. 
Dear  Mary, 

I  was  so  glad  to  hear  from  Mary  Lothrop  that  your 
father  was  better.  Mrs.  Lyman  had  lunched  with  Mrs. 
Peabody  Monday  and  spoke  of  the  more  comfortable  day 
and  comfortable  night. 

How  has  Mrs.  Russell  borne  the  terrible  strain  —  and 
you,  dear  Mary?  And  Ellen? 

Mrs.  Higginson  writes  that  she  left  the  South  with 
Annie.  One  would  fear  that  that  poor  child  would  be 
crushed  under  the  heavy  burden  of  sorrow  and  anxiety 
if  one  did  not  see  again  and  again  how  those  who  are 
called  on  to  suffer  are  wonderfully  upheld  and  strength- 
ened. The  new  seal  on  the  old  promise,  ' '  When  thou 
passeth  thro'  the  waters  I  will  be  with  thee,  and  thro' 
the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow  thee,  for  I,  the  Lord, 
will  hold  thy  right  hand,  saying  unto  thee,  Fear  not." 

Affectionately  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
February  15th. 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

Dear  Gertrude, 

In  a  little  silk  case,  in  my  bureau  drawer,  lie  the 
handkerchiefs  that  are  too  pretty  for  me  to  carry  in 
private  life. 

Here  is  the  prettiest  of  them  all,  which  Mr.  Higgin- 
son brought  me  years  ago,  and  which  is  growing  yellow 
with  age. 

Luckily,  it  has  no  initials  on  it,  and  I  thought  you 
would  carry  it  for  me. 

It  brings  you  much  love,  this  27th  of  March,  and 


Aet.  36  429 

hopes  that  your  new  year  will  deal  lovingly  with  you 
and  yours. 

It  is  twelve  years  now,  isn't  it,  since  I  came  to  know 
you  in  the  days  when  the  sorrow  and  triumph  stood 
close  together,  as  they  do  now. 

And  Time,  which  none  can  bind, 
Though  flowing  fast  away, 
Leaves  Love  behind. 

Yours  then  and  now  and  always 

ALICE. 
March  25th,  1905. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

Sunday  Morning. 
Dear,  dear  Ethel, 

Our  chief  thought  is  a  great  thankfulness  that  William 
is  spared  the  dreary,  dependent  years  stretched  so  tragi- 
cally before  him  —  that  the  brave,  untiring  spirit  has 
escaped  from  the  worn  and  crippled  body. 

Set  free  at  last, 

The  short  pang  pas>sed. 

But  oh,  my  dear!  I  wish  you  could  have  been  spared 
the  sudden  shock  and  horror  and  all  the  responsibility. 

Spared,  too,  the  grief  that  must  come  to  you  all  at  the 
loss  of  so  old  and  faithful  a  friend  —  one  so  interwoven 
with  the  home  life  of  the  past. 

We  longed  to  have  you  here  last  night  —  to  hold  you 
in  our  arms.  But  we  keep  you  always  in  our  heart  of 
hearts. 

God  bless  you,  darling — you  and  yours,  now  and 

forever. 

Your 

NANNY. 


430  1905 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  FOSTER. 

Easter. 

Dearest  Bessie, 

Easter  came  in  more  brightly  because  my  "old  sol- 
dier "  was  a  little  better  and  I  had  a  note  in  her  own 
hand  —  tho'  I  know  that  as  Stevenson  wanted  on  his 
tomb  "  that  he  died  with  the  paddle  still  in  his  hand," 
so  you  still  clasp  the  pen.  And  I  had  wanted  a  pretty 
green  dish  to  set  out  in  my  window  aviary  at  Manches- 
ter —  so  the  Easter  Hare  just  jumps  with  my  wishes. 

Apropos  of  aviaries  Mrs.  Lodge's  Mocking-bird  and  the 
new  parlour-maid's  pet  canary  are  adding  their  songs  to 
my  bird  chorus,  so  I  feel  as  if  all  the  Easter  eggs  in  crea- 
tion had  been  successfully  hatched  and  reared  in  my 
room.  I  am  better,  and  wish  muchly  that  there  was 
any  hope  of  our  meeting  on  Thursday.  I  saved  you  a 
joke  of  Paulina's,  which  is  about  as  apt  a  quotation  as 
I  ever  heard.  Was  it  ever  said  before?  Mr.  Kidner, 
speaking  of  some  friend  who  had  married  his  type- 
writer, added,  "That  is  evidently  the  career  for  a 
bright  girl  who  wants  to  get  married." 

"Yes,"  said  Paulina,  who  is  up  in  "In  Memoriam," 
if  nothing  else,  — 

"  So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 
So  careless  of  the  single  life." 

Isn't  that  good?  Paulina  has  just  come  back  from 
Mrs.  Bell  and  Mrs.  Pratt — "Royal  folks  at  breakfast 
time"  —  and  sweet  and  sprightly  as  ever.  Friday  I 
had  a  long  and  very  dear  call  from  Mrs.  Lodge. 

And  now,  my  dear,  dear  old  Bessie,  I  want  to  wish 
you  every  best  Easter  wish  and  to  tell  you  that  this 
family  can  enter  into  the  joy  of  the  day  —  not  more 


Aet.  36  431 

deeply,  but  with  less  tribulation,  than  a  year  ago. 
And  for  our  dear  dead,  for  Mrs.  Whitman,  in  especial, 
who  was  with  us  a  year  ago  —  we  too  see  the  vision  of 
angels. 

On  each  Easter  after  Christ's  Resurrection  "The 
graves  are  opened  and  the  bodies  of  the  saints  arise  and 
come  into  the  holy  city  and  appear  unto  many." 

With  true  love, 

Always  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

April  29,  1905. 
Dear  Bessie, 

When  I  directed  this  envelope  I  hoped  to  write  you 
a  Palm  Sunday  letter,  but  it  is  not  too  late  to  wish  you 
every  beautiful  Easter  joy.  The  light  of  that  day  shines 
for  us  thro'  the  year. 

I  have  thought  of  you  much  of  late,  for  if  Mr. 's 

defalcation  struck  us,  who  were  strangers,  with  shame 
and  horror,  what  must  it  have  been  to  you?  and  a  man 
brought  up  under  your  father,  who  carried  the  highest 
Christian  ideals  into  every  detail  of  life  "  through  dusty 
lane  and  wrangling  mart." 

But  perhaps,  dear,  I  only  pain  you.  The  longer  I 
live  the  more  I  realize  the  solidarity  of  mankind.  We 
stand  and  fall  together  —  the  sin  of  the  sinner  is  our 
sin,  but  also  the  virtue  of  the  saints.  From  ourselves 
we  turn  to  "  The  Lord  our  Righteousness." 

By  the  way,  I  must  tell  you  of  a  joke  of  Mrs.  Bell's. 


432  1905 

Mrs.  Bell  spoke  of  the  strange  consolation  some  peo- 
ple took  in  "  Amiel's  Journal."  "  Now  I  could  bear  it 
if  he  had  written  one  page  and  signed  it  Jane!  People 
may  be  gloomy  and  desperate  —  but  gloomy  and  slack! 
He's  like  *  Marianna  in  the  Moated  Grange.'  If  she'd 
got  up  and  washed  one  of  those  windows  she  might 
have  said  she  felt  just  the  same,  but  she  wouldn't." 
Isn't  that  both  wit  and  wisdom? 

Write  and  tell  me  when  you  become  an  aunt  and  how 
you  are  and  address  me  Manchester.  We  move  Thurs- 
day and  I  long  for  the  freshness  and  green  and  quiet. 
And  we  hope  it  will  make  Paulina  sleep. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  W.  S. 


Aet.  36  433 

SUMMER  OF  1905.  —  BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 

I  have  kept  the  bird  in  my  bosom. 
May  9. 

A  sharp,  short  thunderstorm  at  dawn  ushers  in  what 
promises  to  be  a  rainy  day  and  only  forty-five  degrees  at 
seven  o'clock.  But  it  clears  off  warm  and  lovely  so  I 
get  out  at  ten  for  nine  and  a  half  hours.  See  the  soli- 
tary, silent  Chippy  feeding  on  the  path,  the  Chicka- 
dees, "lovers  newly  wed,"  Oven-birds,  Black-throated 
Greens  (the  female  proves  to  be  a  songful  young  male 
in  a  small  necktie),  Black-and-white  Creepers.  Get  the 
Humming-birds'  nasturtium  bed  planted.  The  male 
Chickadee  lands  on  the  Mikado's  cage  and  then  flies 
round  the  corner  of  the  house  where  the  rustic  bird- 
house  is,  calls  his  mate  softly  and  flies  back.  (Does 
he  think  of  hiring  it?  and  is  he  my  Smutty?  and  where 
is  Downy  with  his  drum?  and  those  ungrateful  Nut- 
hatches?) 

In  the  late  afternoon  get  a  splendid  view  of  my  first 
Blue  Jay,  being  pursued  by  an  angry  Robin,  then  a 
pair  of  Jays,  Swifts,  Purple  Finch.  Robins  sit  about 
solitary  or  in  pairs,  one  "sighing  like  a  furnace; "  much 
song  from  them.  Song-sparrows  mixed  with  "purple 
warbling"  and  an  occasional  flight-song.  Then  later, 
against  a  golden  sunset  and  under  a  crescent  moon,  the 
Wood  Thrush  chants  vespers. 

I  love  the  birds  and  their  sweet  voices  in  the  lulling 
song  of  the  woods.  —  Old  Welsh  Bard. 

May  10. 

A  cool,  bright  blue  day  with  a  high  west  wind. 
(Out  eight  hours.)  A  Red  Squirrel,  alas,  feeds  on  the 


434  1905 

table.  A  Wood  Thrush  strolls  about  the  path  and 
among  the  dry  leaves  under  the  hemlocks  all  the  morn- 
ing, as  tame  as  the  Oven-birds  themselves.  One  Oven- 
bird  drinks  from  the  big  tub,  then  a  Chipmunk  drinks 
there. 

The  Chickadee  pair  call  each  other  in  soft,  plaintive 
voices  and  again  discuss  taking  the  rustic  bird-house. 
See  Barn  Swallows,  Black-throated  Greens,  and  Black- 
and-whites,  Robins,  and  then  my  first  White-breasted 
Nuthatch,  the  "  Policeman,"  walking  head  first  down  a 
mound  pine.  Later,  see  him  again  and  hear  Vireos 
loud  on  the  hillside.  Early  afternoon  exquisitely  still 
and  warm.  See  an  Oven-bird  taking  his  preliminary 
run  up  a  staircase  of  trees  before  his  flight-song.  A 
second  Wood  Thrush  joins  the  one  below. 

May  13. 

In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground, 
And  Robins  whistle  clear, 
With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound 
To  see  the  coming  year. 

BURNS. 

Waked  to  the  warbling  of  the  Rose-breasted  Gros- 
beak, apparently  just  outside  our  windows,  but  not 
able  to  look  out.  Hear  also  the  near  mew  of  a  Catbird 
and  see  from  my  bed  a  Blue  Jay  in  Paulina's  oak,  her 
mouth  full  of  twigs. 

Yesterday  the  pink  buds  on  my  oak  opened  into  pale 
leaves  and  the  barberry  bushes  are  deep  green  now, 
instead  of  bare  twigs  as  they  were  May  4th.  "And 
Spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way,"  but  she  has  come  at 
last. 


Aet.  36  435 

Sophie  plants  the  lower  garden,  with  Oven-birds  walk- 
ing round  her.  She  sees  two  Yellow-throated  Vireos. 

Paulina  walking  into  the  woods  behind  us  in  the  late 
afternoon  hears  two  Hermit  Thrushes  sing  in  rivalry! 

May  14,  Sunday. 

A  gray  and  cloudy  morning.  Hear  early  the  rich 
carolling  of  what  I  call  the  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak. 
Get  out  to  breakfast.  See  Blue  Jays,  Robins,  Oven- 
birds,  Chippy,  Barn  Swallows  and  Swifts. 

Hear  Downy's  distant  drumming  and  the  mew  of  a 
Catbird.  Then  my  first  Catbird  hops  up  through  the 
barberry  tangle  into  my  oak,  flies  down  and  drinks 
from  the  big  tub,  gives  me  a  song  and  departs,  instantly 
followed  by  Mrs.  Downy,  who  flies  at  once  to  the  suet 
and  makes  a  good  meal. 

Saw  four  courting,  fighting,  love-sick  Oven-birds  all 
at  once  on  the  Chipmunk's  stone  with  erected  crests 
and  drooping  wings.  Out  only  till  half  past  eleven. 
Paulina  sees  the  renegade  Chickadees  twice  return  to 
feed  on  the  table  and  suet. 

May  17. 

Opens  drizzly  and  dark  after  a  cold,  wet  night.  Wood 
Thrushes  glorious,  and  hear  the  Towhee,  Catbird,  etc. 
Look  out  early  and  see  my  Chickadees  at  breakfast. 
See  in  my  tree  together  a  Blue-headed  Vireo  and  a 
small  Warbler  with  a  yellow  breast  whom  I  take  for  a 
Parula  without  a  necktie,  but  after  breakfast  Sophie 
comes  to  say  she  has  just  seen  from  the  sun-parlor 
window  a  tiny  bird  with  a  green  back,  gold  waistcoat 
and  small,  black  cap:  Wilson's  Black  Cap  of  course. 


4:36  1905 

Was  my  Parula  one  also?  No,  for  later  I  see,  time 
after  time,  little  "Wilson"  flying  about  the  barberry 
tangle  —  the  first  one  I  ever  saw,  and  such  an  unmis- 
takable little  fellow. 

See  Oven-bird,  Mrs.  Black-throated  Green,  Black-and- 
white  Warbler,  and  the  ' '  Policeman"  in  the  crooked  pine. 
Downy  on  the  suet.  Sophie  sees  two  smallish  Thrushes 
with  uniform  colored  backs  and  pale  breasts  without 
obvious  spots.  She  shows  me  one  of  them  in  the  oak 
scrub,  a  Veery,  the  first  ever  on  our  Manchester  list.  I 
think  a  Duck  flies  over,  but  what  kind  ?  (The  triangular 
mystery  of  last  summer.)  Little  Wilson's  Black  Cap 
hangs  about  most  of  the  day  near  the  barberry  tangle. 
A  grim,  gray  day,  so  like  an  ice  box  in  temperature  that 
one  goes  out  on  foot  for  a  moment  and  hurries  in  again 
to  the  closed  room. 

May  20.     Rose-letter  day. 

Heavy  shower  at  dawn  —  then  clears  bright  and  cold 
—  forty-six  degrees  at  seven. 

Florider  taps  on  the  window  and  Hampton  Court 
wakes  to  the  music  of  Thrushes  and  birds  innumerable. 

Look  out  early  to  see  the  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak  sing- 
ing in  my  tree;  three  times  more  we  see  him  in  P.'s 
oak.  Also  see,  before  breakfast,  Purple  Finches,  Chick- 
adees, Catbird,  Wood  Thrush,  Robins,  Parula  Warbler, 
the  first  Wood  Pewee  in  my  tree,  and  all  about  Mag- 
nolia and  what  we  thought  might  be  Mrs.  Tanager,  and 
a  little  later  what  was  certainly  Mr.  Scarlet  Tanager,  my 
first  male,  blazing  in  the  oak  scrub.  Blackpoll  War- 
bler, Black-and-white,  Chestnut-sides,  Blue  Jay  being 
pursued  by  Mrs.  Humming-bird,  Chippy,  the  Gray- 
cheeked  Thrush. 


Aet.  36  437 

But  the  great  feature  of  the  day  is  the  Rose  Breasts 
—  three  beautiful  males  appear  on  the  hillside  and  sit 
about,  showing  their  deep  pink  neckties  and  occasionally 
the  pink  glow  under  their  wings.  Then  Sophie  sees 
Mrs.  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak  near  the  kitchen  door, 
brown  and  comfortable,  surrounded  by  admirers,  and 
shows  her  to  us.  Later  she  appears  in  a  low  oak  be- 
low the  crooked  pine  and  her  admirers  appear  with  her. 
One  eats  barberries  in  the  tangle,  one  sits  in  the  oak 
scrub  and  the  mound  and  the  top  of  my  tree. 

June  30. 

Another  exquisite  day.  Thrushes  glorious  at  dawn, 
and  after  them  a  Cardinal  solo  and  much  serenading  of 
Virginia.  At  breakfast  time  hear  a  distant  warbling 
of  Purple  Finches,  a  Song-sparrow's  sweet  voice,  and 
nearer  an  Indigo-bird. 

A  Scarlet  Tanager  sits  in  my  tree  and  then,  after 
much  sly  blinking  on  the  piazza,  rail,  Smutty  Chickadee 
lights  on  the  dish  in  my  hand  for  the  first  time  —  takes 
nothing,  but  I  feel  the  touch  of  his  dear  little  claw. 

Chippy  comes  to  eat,  and  Downy  and  Catbird  on  the 
table.  A  Robin  carries  off  a  long  piece  of  wicking  from 
the  sumachs,  while  Theocrite  shrieks,  "Stop,  thief." 
See  little  Chestnut-sides,  Pine  Warbler  and  Swifts,  and 
lots  of  Red-eyed  Vireos,  Oven-birds  on  the  path  and 
in  flight- songs.  Goldfinch  in  the  crooked  pine,  lots  of 
beautiful  Barn  Swallows  again.  Black-throated  Green 
and  Black-and-white  Creeper.  Hear  again  today  in  the 
hemlock  hedge  the  unknown  little  Warbler  voice,  like 
the  trill  of  an  ecstatic  grasshopper. 

Smutty  and  his  wife  are  here  together  at  three  and 
five  and  six  and  seven.  (Where  are  the  babies?)  When 


438  1905 

I  am  in  Smutty  flies  to  and  fro  from  the  meal-worm  dish 
by  my  sofa,  and  when  I  come  out  he  comes  and  sits  on 
the  back  of  the  rocking  chair  and  almost  comes  to  me 
over  and  over  again,  but  not  quite. 

At  sunset  time  the  Catbird  comes  twice  to  eat  currants 
and  the  second  time  has  his  wife  in  the  tree.  Where  are 
their  babies?  I  have  had  no  June  babies  as  yet  in  my 
tree  and  till  this  last  two  or  three  days  it  has  been  sur- 
prisingly birdless  for  a  fortnight  or  more. 

The  Thrushes  were  never  in  fuller  song  nor  more 
invisible.  The  Eobins  are  having  a  second  period  of 
song. 

July  1.     (Baby  month.) 

Not  so  bright,  and  very  windy.  Out  only  three  and  a 
half  hours.  See  both  Tanagers  (the  female  in  my  tree), 
Catbird  on  the  table,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chickadee,  my  first 
Kingbird,  Mrs.  Black- throated  Green  gathering  wicking, 
Swifts  and  Barn  Swallows.  At  luncheon  time  hear  a 
chirping  of  young  voices  which  prove  to  be  a  Black- 
and-white  family;  one  grown-up  looking  young  one  is 
being  fed  by  a  parent. 

Toward  supper  time  hear  Baby  Chickadee  voices  and 
find  one  tailless  little  darling  in  my  gutter.  He  joins  a 
still  more  youthful  baby  brother  on  the  piazza  below, 
who  lets  himself  be  caught  by  Sophie  and  brought  up 
to  me.  He  objects  to  being  held,  but  consents  to  sit 
quietly  under  my  little  table,  and  after  some  futile  little 
pecks  eats  a  small  meal  worm  from  my  hand.  Then 
we  leave  him  —  after  a  little  he  flies  bravely  into  the 
suet  branch  and  then  into  the  hemlock  hedge,  calling 
loudly  for  his  mamma  and  papa,  "  dear  —  dear  —  dear." 


Aet.  36  439 

July  7. 

Bright  and  windy  after  fog  at  daybreak.  Out,  on 
and  off,  ten  hours.  The  Chickadee  babies  so  grown  in  a 
week  —  sit  in  my  tree  or  near  by,  and  Smutty  flies  to 
and  from  the  dish  till  ruin  stares  me  in  the  face. 

A  Baltimore  Oriole  sits  chocking  in  the  crooked  pine, 
Cedar  Wax  wings  fly  over,  and  a  grown-up  "Policeman" 
(White-breasted  Nuthatch)  hangs  about  my  tree.  See 
Catbirds,  Oven-bird  and  Chippy,  Flicker,  Pewee,  Swifts 
and  Black  and- white  Warblers.  At  sunset  time,  paying 
no  heed  to  Ellen  and  Paulina,  Smutty  dashes  to  and 
from  the  dish  in  my  hand  —  sits  on  the  chairs  and  the 
watch-stand  and  bell,  and  several  times  hops  up  to  my 
knees  with  throbbing  heart  and  blinking,  beady  eyes. 
Babies  flutter  after  him  and  two  land  on  the  bird-table. 

July  26. 

Exquisite  blue  morning  and  the  little  Chickadees 
learning  their  love  songs  against  next  spring,  though 
they  only  manage  a  sweet  "  Phoe  —  e,"  to  the  indigna- 
tion of  Smutty;  Virginia  still  only  a  faithful  tail  and 
patient  pink  beak.  Three  Baby  Black-and-white  War- 
blers, one  Baby  Redstart  and  a  Baby  Chestnut-sides  all 
come  into  my  tree  at  once,  two  of  them  land  on  the 
bird-table  and  are  hissed  at  by  "  Theocrite. "  See  Baby 
Black-throated  Greens,  Catbirds,  Chippies,  Miss  Downy, 
Humming-bird,  Swifts,  Vireos,  Robins,  Barn  Swallows. 
In  the  late  afternoon  Virginia  comes  off  the  nest,  not 
for  two  minutes,  but  for  twenty,  leaving  Florider  in 
complete  charge  of  the  eggs. 


MO  1905 

Oct.  9. 

Seventh  shining  day  (fifty-three  degrees  at  7  A.M.). 
When  I  move  out  to  breakfast  a  dear  little  Thrush 
is  tamely  hopping  up  the  path  below,  eating  cracker 
crumbs  and  one  raisin.  He  joins  a  friend  on  the  mound 
who  jerks  his  tail,  and  yet  our  little  fellow's  tail  is  not 
"distinctly  rufous"  enough  for  a  Hermit,  and  he  has 
white  eye-rings  and  gray  lores  like  a  gray-checked,  and 
all  the  tameness  of  a  Hermit.  Later  one  sits  in  the 
sumachs.  Out  seven  perfect  hours  (sixty-four  degrees 
at  11  A.M.).  Cooler  afternoon,  but  exquisite.  Hear  the 
Towhee  and  Kinglets.  See  Blackpolls,  Myrtle  Warblers, 
one  young  male  Black- throated  Green,  Cedar  Wax  wings, 
Kobins,  Chickadees,  Chippies,  and  at  lunch  time  a  Police- 
man who  comes  onto  the  piazza  rail  and  then  again  and 
again  onto  the  table  to  eat  nuts  and  hemp.  Later  see 
a  Jay.  Bright  moonlight  night  again  after  a  pale  pink 
afterglow. 

Oct.  11. 

A  gray  morning  and  the  first  gray  Junco  feeding  on 
the  path  when  I  step  out  early.  He  flies  up  into  a  yel- 
low birch  with  a  clatter  of  his  little  castanets.  Later 
he  and  a  friend,  one  Chippy  and  one  White-throat,  feed 
together  on  the  path  and  one  Junco  comes  from  under 
the  piazza,  where  he  has  been  seeking  his  refuge. 

See  a  Blue  Jay,  a  Brown  Creeper,  Robin,  Chickadees, 
and  Miss  Downy  and  Mrs.  "Policeman"  (who  feeds  on 
the  table  and  behind  the  little  bird-house),  Blackpolls, 
Myrtles  and  Nashville  Warbler.  (High  wind;  indoors 
all  day.) 


Aet.  36  441 

To  Miss  ELIZABETH  BALCH. 

MANCHESTER,  June  10th. 
Dear  Bessie, 

This  is  to  wish  you  God-speed  and  a  beautiful  summer. 

When  you  are  rested  you  must  write  me  the  prom- 
ised long  letter  and  tell  me  why  "  Whitby,"  and  if 
"Miss  Baker"  is  a  friend  or  only  an  address. 

I  was  so  very  sorry  to  hear  of  the  grief  that  has  come 
to  your  young  people,  and  thro'  them  to  you  all. 

How  piteous  to  have  to  part  with  the  little  life  —  the 
bud  of  their  joy,  before  it  blossomed! 

Oh,  I  quite  understand  how  big  a  place  that  going 
left.  It  isn't  length,  but  depth,  is  it?  and  little  things 
strike  roots  down  into  the  eternal. 

But  they  bear  it  together  in  true  love,  and  sorrow  is 
the  most  sacred  of  bonds. 

Did  you  know  that  Mrs.  Whitman  had  left  directions 
for  a  gold  chalice  for  Trinity?  In  the  stem  are  set  the 
jewels  from  the  bracelet  she  always  wore  and  at  the 
base  her  name  is  inscribed,  and  "  Sursum  Corda." 

As  Bessie  Foster  says,  when  you  think  how  many 
hearts  she  lifted  up,  it  makes  this  beautiful  memorial 

the  closer. 

Always  yours  affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Sunday,  July  23. 
Well,  my  darling,  how  goes  it? 

I  tell  Theocrite  he  is  a  fascinating  egoist,  but  he  says 
all  birds  are  more  or  less  so.  "  Peep!  " 


442  1905 

And  that  reminds  me,  Virginia  is  "crouched  on  her 
nest,  silent,  with  bright  eyes,"  though  the  rim  is  so 
high  one  sees  scarcely  more  than  a  patient  pink  beak. 
When  she  comes  off  ecstatic  old  Florider  slips  on,  first 
looking  in  with  a  murmur  of  "  These  are  my  jewels  [or 
jewel],"  like  your  favorite  "Father  of  the  Gracchi." 
Yesterday  there  was  ' '  a  corner "  in  meal  worms  and 
Sophie  and  I  could  hardly  bear  the  reproachful  beady 
eyes  of  Smutty  and  little  "  Short-hair."  We  telephoned 
and  were  instantly  frowned  on  by  Mr.  Ludlam.  If  meal 
worms  were  to  be  had  they  would  have  come.'  The  heat 
had  produced,  not  prostration,  but  beetles.  However, 
in  the  evening  some  drove  up  in  state  by  Smith's  Ex- 
press, and  we  were  forgiven. 

Give  my  human  Red  Squirrel  a  hug. 

Your  devoted 

SISTER. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Tuesday  Morning. 
Dearest  Teeny, 

You  ought  to  see  my  clientele  —  my  clientele  of  feath- 
ers!! When  Sophie  or  I  step  out  to  the  clamourous 
cries  of  dee-dee  not  only  do  Smutty  and  Short-hair  feed 
from  our  hands,  but  Short-hair's  brother  "Dimple" 
and  the  six  fat  "  little  Uncles." 

Little  Uncles  have  a  Russian  sound,  and  remind  me 
that  when  Mr.  Paine  was  here  last  night  I  read  him 
some  extracts  from  Conrad's  "Autocracy  and  the 
War  "  that  I  had  jotted  down  for  you,  and  then  exhib- 
ited an  accurate  and  profound  knowledge  of  Russian 
history  from  chaos  to  the  present  time  that  I  had 
gleaned  hastily  from  "Fisher"  the  day  before. 


Aet.  36  443 

However,  I  had  the  grace  to  say  so  instead  of  acting 
as  if  I  "had  known  it  from  all  Eternity." 

Did  we  tell  you  that  we  had  suddenly  dropped  fathoms 
deep  into  the  realistic  horrors  of  "Anna  Kare'nina"? 
It  depressed  us  very  much  at  first,  but  when  I  asked 
Gamdge  how  she  liked  it  she  answered  that  she  thought 
it  "very  pleasing."  Almost  as  much  the  inevitable 
word  as  our  genial  Day  of  Judgment. 

Your  dress  came  last  night  and  is  sweet.  I  am  glad 
you  and  "  Linkstress"  have  a  room  alone.  A  Presby- 
terian would  have  been  bad  enough,  but  a  total  immer- 
sion Baptist!! 

Yours, 

ALICE. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

Sunday,  Aug.  5. 

Dear  Teeny, 

We  hear  little  voices  from  Hampton  Court.  Do  you 
really  think  —  ? 

I  try  hard  not  to  be  hopeful.  There's  a  cheery  frame 
of  mind!  But  it  isn't  every  one  who  can  get  that  deli- 
cate poise  advised  by  the  copy-books. 

Bullen  is  still  somewhat  hipped,  and  says  it  is  pink- 
stomachic  trouble.  And  Theocrite  has  two  beautiful 
wing-feathers  to  send  you,  but.  I  refuse  to  encourage  so 
base  a  bird. 

And  now  to  the  humanities.  I  am  ever  so  much 
better  and  can't  think  what  possessed  me  Friday. 

We  again  summoned  Dr.  Washburn  from  the  vasty 
deep.  The  other  note  had  been  lost  and  he  was  so  dis- 
tressed that  he  wouldn't  rest  till  it  had  been  found. 


444  1905 

"But,"  I  said,  "  you  see  it  wasn't  pressing.  '  If  con- 
venient, would  he  within  the  next  few  days.' "  "  Oh," 
he  said,  ' '  I  know  how  you  feel  when  you  send  that  kind 
of  a  note.  I  always  come  just  as  quick  as  I  can." 

He  never  saw  me  buy  parsnips  of  "  Oh!  Mr.  Clark," 
and  butter  them  myself  beforehand. 

I  had  a  dear  call  from  Mrs.  Peabody  last  night 
("Heaven  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Lewis,  but  I  do  love  that 
woman  "),  and  we  were  very  merry,  but  not  as  merry 
as  Thursday  afternoon.  Did  you  tell  Ethel  it  was  all 
her  fault  that  we  were  so  "  red-squirrelous, "  and  then 
we  relapsed  into  the  highest  Russian  Society?  It  makes 
me  reckless,  for  when  Mamma  exclaimed,  "  Why,  it's 
quarter  of  nine,"  I  answered  I  didn't  care  if  it  was 
twenty  minutes  past!!  ' '  Idiot, "  I  hear  you  say,  —  { '  Stop 
her, "said  Krututsk. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  8. 
Darlingest  Mauves, 

So  this  will  reach  you  in  the  desert  island  set  in  un- 
known seas? 

Mamma  wrote  Aunt  Florence  that  you  were  going 
"to  visit  one  of  the  Miss  Curtises,"  and  there  flashed 
before  me  an  early  scene  when,  after  watching  you  and 
Bella  in  charades,  we  ended  an  informal  evening  with 
dates  and  threw  the  stones  into  an  emptied  milk  jug. 

I  hope,  by  the  way,  you  admire  all  the  light  litera- 
ture I  have  been  able  to  get  into  this  envelope. 

Fanny  was  here  yesterday  after  her  wanderings 
among  ' (  philanthropi  whose  heads  do  grow  beneath 
their  shoulders." 


Aet.  36  445 

She  gave  me  a  sketch  of whose  last  great 

idea  is  that  democracy  is  a  played-out  farce  and  that 
what  we  want  in  this  country  is  an  aristocracy  and  the 
feudal  system. 

Do  you  think  Seattle,  North- West,  a  happy  field  for 
this  crusade? 

Did  Bella  tell  you  of  Elinor's  answer  when  Mrs. 
Curtis,  laying  down  the  Cabot  memoir,  begged  no  one 
to  publish  her  literary  remains  :  ' '  The  world  would  be 
so  thrilled  over  Mrs.  G.  S.  Curtis,  Her  Life  and  Postal 
Cards." 

I  see  Mrs.  Peabody  this  afternoon  for  the  last  time 
before  she  returns  to  her  Miltonic  heights.  I  know 
beforehand  we  shall  talk  of  Sts.  Paul  and  Paulina. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

August  10th. 
Dearest  Mauves, 

Mamma  told  you  one  of  the  Baby  Cardinals  had  died 
—  a  pathetically  tiny  creature  —  but  the  one  who  is  left, 
"Mississippi,"  tho'  small  for  her  days,  seems  a  strenu- 
ous little  person,  who  insists  on  having  her  meals  served 
at  least  every  twenty  minutes.  "And  such  a  tyke," 
says  Virginia  proudly,  when  she  fluffs  down  over  her 
to  get  her  to  sleep,  and  a  little,  wobbly,  open  beak  will 
push  up  between  the  nest-rim  and  her  feather-double 
chin.  She  is  more  than  "a  voice  and  an  appetite,"  is 
little  Miss,  and  no  one  could  possibly  take  her  mouth  for 
a  wrinkle  in  her  forehead. 


446  1905 

Florider  sings  for  joy  even  when  his  mouth  is  full, 
which  it  is  half  the  time,  devoted  fellow. 

Mrs.  Peabody  was  here  again  last  night — my  Cornelia 
—  and  now  we  shan't  meet  till  winter.  She  heard 
some  one  preach  last  Sunday  on  Cornelius  who,  he  said, 
was  at  a  time  of  doubt  and  difficulty.  "I  wanted  to 
say  if  there  was  ever  a  man  who  knew  his  own  mind, " 
she  said,  "  it  was  Cornelius,  the  centurion."  Luckily, 
the  Elect  Lady  restrained  herself. 

What  more  have  I  to  add  except  that  life  with 
Gamdge  might  be  described  "  as  a  letting  down  and 
pulling  up  of  the  yawning"?  Oh,  yes,  and  that  getting 
you  home  Saturday  will  make  it  a  birthday  to  me,  if  it 
isn't  quite  one  for  you,  my  poor  darl ingest. 

Your  old 

SISTER. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER,  Sept.  20. 
Darling  Ethel, 

I  hoped  to  write  you  Sunday  a  note,  to  put  its  arms 
round  your  neck,  and  say,  "Welcome  home."  Instead 
I  had  to  lie  still,  but  like  the  speechless  parrot,  I  "  took 
it  out  in  thinking." 

And  when  I  think  of  you  it  makes  a  warm  spot  at 
my  heart,  "my  other  little  sister,"  —  a  name  not  too 
sacred  for  you,  though  you  know  how  sacred  I  hold  it. 

Whether  you  are  here  in  the  flesh  —  a  sunshiny  pres- 
ence—  or  "the  voice  and  appetite"  in  the  spare  room 
above,  to  be  bullied  and  neglected  at  our  sweet  will,  or 
among  your  own  people,  you  are  always  one  of  that 
close  circle  that  means  Home. 


Aet.  37  447 

In  our  joy  and  in  our  sorrow,  on  the  heights  or 
depths  or  the  long,  flat  levels  of  life,  you  never  fail, 
my  darling,  and  are  knit  into  our  hearts,  not  only  by 
the  great  cables,  but  by  all  the  little  foolish  heartstrings 
of  fondness  and  trivialities  and  shared  laughter  and  easy 
tears. 

Yours  always  and  always,  here  and  beyond,  please 

God. 

ALICE. 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

MANCHESTER,  Thursday,  Oct.  5. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

Here  we  are  on  my  tree-top  piazza  this  early  morning 
—  Paulina  before  the  long  tea-table  covered  with  vol- 
umes, loose  sheets,  scrap  book,  and  the  priceless  paste 
at  her  right  hand.  If  only  you  could  work  on  George 
Herbert  with  this  background. 

It  isn't  Indian  summer  yet,  I  suppose,  but  seems  to 
have  gathered  the  beauty  of  all  the  seasons  up  into  one. 
It  was  sixty  degrees  at  seven  o'clock  and  there  is  a 
golden  haze  over  everything. 

Faithfully  yours, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 

To  MRS.  FREDERIC  DEXTER. 

(Christmas)  Monday  Morning. 
My  dearest  Mrs.  Dexter, 

When  you  started  out  into  the  dark  and  cold  alone 
last  night,  looking  so  piteous  and  fragile,  I  longed  to 
put  my  arms  round  you  and  keep  you,  as  I  do  in  my 


4:48  1905 

heart,  always.  And  you  mustn't  feel  lonely.  But  I 
know  you  won't  on  Christmas  Day.  Then  the  heavens 
seem  to  open  and  we  realize  how  close  it  is  to  the  dear 
old  earth.  They  that  sit  in  darkness  have  seen  a  great 
light. 

I  read  somewhere  that  the  Germans  speak  of  the  dead 
as  "  those  who  are  ours  forever."  May  their  felt  pres- 
ence be  very  near  to  you  —  may  God  comfort  you  and 
make  His  face  to  shine  upon  you  more  and  more  till  the 
day  breaks  and  the  shadows  flee  away. 

Yours  in  true  love, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  37  449 

FROM    HER   NOTE-BOOK. 

Blessed  are  they  who  know  their  own  insufficiency, 
their  own  poverty  and  weakness,  sufficiently  to  feel  their 
need  of  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come,  of  the  King- 
dom of  God  in  their  souls.  —  DUBOIS. 

By  all  thy  lives  and  deaths  of  love, 

By  thy  large  draught  of  intellectual  day, 

And  by  thy  thirsts  of  love  more  large  than  they. 

CRASHAW. 

O  friend,  as  God  might  be  my  friend, 
Thou  only  hast  not  trampled  on  my  tears ; 
Life  scarce  can  be  so  hard  'mid  many  fears 
And  many  shames  when  mortal  heart  can  find 
Somewhere  one  healing  touch  as  my  sick  mind 
Finds  thee  —  and  should  I  wait  thy  word  to  endure 
A  little  for  thine  easing?     Yea,  or  pour 
My  strength  out  in  thy  toiling  fellowship. 

He  that  hath  so  many  causes  of  joy  is  very  much  in 
love  with  peevishness  who  loses  all  these  pleasures  and 
chooses  to  sit  down  upon  his  little  handful  of  thorns. 

JEREMY  TAYLOR. 

The  nobler  a  soul  the  more  objects  of  compassion  it 
hath.  —  BACON. 

About  the  Christian  there  should  be  a  sort  of  cour- 
ageous gaiety.  —  NASH. 

January  23,  1906. 

Less  yearning  for  the  friendship  fled, 
Than  some  strong  bond  that  is  to  be. 


450  1906 

March  9.th.     Anniversary  of  Mrs.  Paine's  death. 

Oh,  thou  undaunted  daughter  of  desires, 
By  all  thy  dower  of  lights  and  fires, 
By  all  the  eagle  in  thee,  all  the  dove. 

Warm  both  hands  at  the  fire  of  life. 

The  death  of  anguish  which  Scripture  declares  to  us 
to  be  "necessary,"  though  it  does  not  explain  wherein  its 
dire  necessity  resides,  convinced  me  that  God  was  not 
content  to  throw,  as  moralists  and  theologians  can  do  so 
easily,  the  whole  weight  and  accountability  of  sin  and 
suffering  upon  man,  but  was  willing,  if  this  burden 
might  not  as  yet  be  removed,  to  share  it  with  His  poor 
finite  heavily  burdened  creature. 

When  I  looked  upon  my  agonized  and  dying  God  and 
turned  from  that  world-appealing  sight,  Christ  cruci- 
fied for  us,  to  look  upon  life's  most  perplexed  and  sor- 
rowful contradictions,  I  was  not  met,  as  in  intercourse 
with  my  fellow-men,  with  the  cold  platitudes  that  fall 
so  lightly  from  the  lips  of  those  who  have  never  known 
one  real  pang  nor  whose  lives  one  crushing  blow;  I 
was  not  told  that  all  things  were  ordered  for  the  best, 
nor  assured  that  the  overwhelming  disparities  of  life  were 
but  apparent,  but  I  was  met,  from  the  eyes  and  brow  of 
Him  who  was  indeed  acquainted  with  grief,  by  a  look 
of  solemn  recognition  such  as  may  pass  between  friends 
who  have  endured  between  them  some  strange  and 
secret  sorrow  and  are  through  it  united  in  a  bond  which 
cannot  be  broken.  — DORA  GREEN  WELL. 

Passion  Week. 

Jesus  knowing  that  the  Father  had  given  all  things 
unto  His  hands. 


Aet.  37  451 

"All  things" — the  sense  of  absolute  sovereignty  is 
the  more  impressive  in  the  prospect  of  apparent  defeat. 
Even  through  treachery  and  death  lay  the  way  to  the 
Resurrection. 

"Into  His  hands  " —  to  deal  with  as  He  pleased,  even 
when  He  was  given  into  the  hands  of  men. 

WESTCOTT. 

Our  Comrade  Christ. 

The  Christian  religion  is  Christ's  friendship.  We 
cannot  come  to  any  truer  friend,  as  we  cannot  find  a 
simpler  story  to  tell  of  it  than  that.  —  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

Death  of  Hamlet.     April  3,  1906. 

Hands  had  stroked  them  which  are  cold 
Now  for  years  in  churchyard  mould  ; 
Comrades  of  our  past  were  they, 
Of  that  unreturning  day. 

Some  Greek  speaks  of  life  as  a  shuddering  thing. 

Farewell,  ye  walkers  on  the  shore 

Of  death.     A  God  had  counselled  you. 

GILBERT  MURRAY'S  "  Electra  of  Euripides." 

One  of  the  sacramental  things  of  life  where  the  eter- 
nal bursts  into  beauty.  —  NASH. 

June  24,  1906.  Anniversary  of  Mrs.  Whitman's  death. 
There  was  no  lingering,  nor  acute  pain,  nor  con- 
sciousness of  separation,  but  God  took  her  to  Himself 
as  you  would  lift  a  sleeping  child  from  a  dark  uneasy 
bed  into  your  arms  and  the  light. 

ROBERT  BROWNING,  on  his  wife's  death. 


452  1906 

Natural  death  is,  as  it  were,  a  haven  and  a  rest  to  us 
after  long  navigation. 

And  the  noble  Soul  is  like  a  good  mariner;  for  he, 
when  he  draws  near  the  port,  lowers  his  sails  and  enters 
it  softly  with  gentle  steerage.  In  such  a  death  as  this 
there  is  no  grief  nor  any  bitterness  .  .  .  but  as  a  ripe 
apple  is  lightly  and  without  violence  loosened  from  its 
branch,  so  our  soul,  without  grieving,  departs  from  the 
body  in  which  it  hath  been.  — DANTE'S  "  Convito." 

Be  inspired  with  the  belief  that  life  is  a  great  and 
noble  calling,  not  a  mean  and  grovelling  thing  that  we 
are  to  shuffle  through  as  we  can,  but  an  elevated  and 
lofty  destiny.  —  GLADSTONE. 

The  vision  belongs  solely  to  such  as  have  clean  and 
disciplined  hearts .  —  MEREDITH. 

Even  an  injured  dog  has  his  Erinyes. 

Greek  Proverb. 

As  God  loveth  a  cheerful  giver  so  He  also  loveth  a 
cheerful  taker,  one  who  takes  hold  on  His  gifts  with  a 
glad  heart.  —  DONNE. 

Nothing  characterized  him  more  than  the  eagerness 
with  which  he  greeted  the  advent  of  every  newly  dis- 
covered truth.  He  was  not  a  watcher  by  the  tomb,  but 
a  man  of  the  resurrection.  He  lived  on  the  mountain 
of  hope. 

The  years  teach  much  which  the  days  never  knew. 

EMERSON. 


Aet.  37  453 

To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

(Jan.)  Tuesday. 
Dear  Mr.  Allen, 

We  had  the  nicest  seminar  last  evening  over  your 
Herbert  —  only  this  time  you  had  your  say  without  in- 
terruption. 

We  should  have  known  it  was  you  had  it  been  dug 
up  in  undiscovered  lands,  and  laughed  for  joy  when  his 
mother  and  father  struggled  for  mastery  in  his  temper- 
ament and  Church  and  State  walked  in  arm  in  arm  fol- 
lowed closely  by  St.  Augustine  and  Boethius. 

But  we  prefer  you  and  George  Herbert  to  Mr.  Palmer. 

By  the  way,  your  article  on  Mr.  Brooks  was  found 
in  the  mouth  of  Benjamin's  sack  —  or  rather  in  our  big 
carved  chest  —  and  I  am  very  glad  and  am  going  to 
read  it. 

We  hope  the  cold  is  better,  and  all  wish  you  a  Happy 

New  Year. 

Affectionately, 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH. 
To  PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN. 

[Reprinted  from  the  "  Pacific  Monthly"  of  January,  1908.] 

A  Parody.  —  Richard  Hodgson. 
By 

The  subject  of  our  study  is  the  expression  of  three 
great  world  tendencies  almost  so  subtle  as  to  escape 
analysis.  First  the  psychic  mood  seen  in  the  Gnostics, 
temporarily  suppressed  under  the  historical  necessities 
of  the  Roman  system.  Then  the  joyous  phase,  know- 


454:  1906 

ing  no  bounds,  the  contribution  to  Europe  of  Bohemia, 
tracing  its  origin  to  John  Huss  and  having  its  logical 
end  in  the  Latin  Quarter  in  Paris  —  a  tendency  having 
a  more  beautiful  development  in  Boccaccio  and  its  mod- 
ern Anglican  expression  in  Prebendary  Webb-Peploe. 
With  these  two  moods  was  fused,  in  organic  unity,  the 
modern  corporate  movement  —  the  gift  which  the  great 
Anglo-Saxon  race  received  of  the  Renaissance. 

Richard  Hodgson  entered  into  his  legitimate  heritage 
and  in  him  these  phenomena  contended  in  order  to  a 
higher  adjustment  in  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research. 
Of  his  mother  we  know  almost  nothing,  but  we  are  led 
to  believe  that  her  relations  were  those  of  Monica  to 
Augustine.  His  friends,  in  rearranging  his  papers,  have 
brought  out  more  clearly  the  outlines  of  the  great  Piper 
crisis.  This  is  epoch  making. 

The  lesson  of  Mr.  Hodgson's  career  is  that  "  wise  pas- 
si  veness"  which  enabled  him  to  receive  messages  of 
spiritual  content  from  inanimate  objects. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  S.  HOOPER. 

Dearest  Ellen, 

The  day  after  our  talk  I  came  across  this  passage  from 
Eugenie  de  Guerin  which  says  one  of  the  things  I  tried 
to  say  when  we  spoke  of  the  heart  of  the  Gospel  not 
being  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  but  the  Person  of 
Christ. 

"The  mystery  of  suffering  makes  one  grasp  the  be- 
lief of  something  to  be  expiated,  something  to  be  won. 
I  see  it  in  Jesus  Christ,  the  Man  of  Sorrows.  It  was 
necessary  that  the  Son  of  Man  should  suffer.  That  is 
all  we  know  in  the  troubles  and  calamities  of  life. " 


Aet.  37  455 

It  was  dear  to  have  you  for  a  real  long  spell  the  other 
night  and  see  and  touch  you,  but  I  always  keep  you  in 
my  heart,  darling. 

Mr.  Allen  says  you  carry  "an  atmosphere  of  inward 
serenity  with  you,"  but  I'm  human  and  want  the  cup 
to  brim  for  you  with  red  joy. 

Your  very  loving 

ALICE. 
January  24th. 

To  HER  MOTHER. 

HOME,  Wednesday  Morn. 
My  Dearie  O!! 

It  was  nice  to  get  your  pencil  note  from  the  abode  of 
the  "Plug  Uglies"  last  evening,  and  still  nicer,  this 
breakfast  time,  to  get  your  Washington  letter. 

Bright-eyed  people  in  their  beds  are  not  to  be  encour- 
aged, tho'  it  ill  becomes  me  to  say  so,  and  we  are  afraid 
they  are  spoiling  you  for  your  cold  and  ascetic  home  — 
a  home  rather  colder  than  usual,  as  I  am  taking  advan- 
tage of  your  absence  to  thoroughly  air  the  front  of  the 
house,  while  Paulina  ' '  tends  that  b'ar  for  a  while  " — 
that  cinnamon  b'ar,  Peter — and  appropriately  hauls  him 
over  the  coals  for  misdemeanors! 

Yesterday  Paulina  ran  out  at  noon  to  the  Diocesan 
House  and  the  service  at  St.  Paul's,  and  in  the  after- 
noon walked  out  to  the  Bay  State  Road,  left  her  card 
on  Mrs.  Merriman,  and  called  on  Diana. 

In  the  afternoon  we  had  Mrs.  Curtis  and  then  Fanny. 
Did  you  know  that  when  Steen  was  married  an  hyster- 
ical passage  appeared  in  the  "  Post "  —  "Fireman,  who 
has  risen  by  merit,  marries  beautiful  heiress!!  " 


456  1906 

We  think  Fanny  is  beginning  to  be  a  little  home- 
sick!! 

I  don't  know  that  anything  else  has  happened  except 
that  Ward  has  sent  the  note-paper.  There's  what  is 
called  sensation.  ("Now  don't  waste  it.")  But  we 
haven't  fallen  into  the  mistake  of  Aladdin's  wife  yet, 
and  changed  old  lamps  for  new. 

We  miss  you  sleeping  in  the  big  red  chair  —  and  sit- 
ting up  very  animated  in  the  small  red  chair  over  your 
muffler  —  the  toasted  brown-bread  muffler. 

We  are  getting  on  bravely  and  are  tickled  to  death 
at  the  thought  of  your  spree. 

Don't  forget  either  ' '  Darling  "  or 

"Only  me." 

To  HER  MOTHER. 

Monday  Noon. 

Dear  old  Mere,  —  spelling  it  with  an  "are,"  —  the 
colts  still  frisk,  but  what  will  they  do  when  night  falls 
and  gloom  sets  in? 

•         ....         ••••• 

We  have  not  changed  our  spots  as  yet.  I  have  just 
written  a  bird  letter  to  an  ornithologist  and  Paulina  has 
come  home  with  two  books  on  the  Jews  and  three  on 
ethics.  She  has  also  beheaded  ' '  The  Social  Register  "  — 
or  rather,  on  my  pathetic  pleading,  spared  them  this 
once.  They  wrote  and  she  answered.  A  sort  of  * '  First 
I  will  warn  you  and  then  I  will  tell  sire." 

What  she  hasn't  done  this  morning  while  out  is 
hardly  worth  the  doing. 

My  love  to  Cousin  Mell,  Mrs.  Lodge  and  THEOCRITE. 

Your  devoted 

ELIZABETH. 


Aet.  37  457 

To  Miss  GERTRUDE  BROOKS. 

March  27th. 
Dearest  Gertrude, 

This  is  your  birthday,  isn't  it?  and  I  don't  want  to 
let  the  day  pass  without  sending  you  a  word  of  affec- 
tionate greeting.  May  this  new  year  touch  you  and 
yours  gently.  This  last  year  has  brought  you  so  much 
anxiety  and  distress,  and  of  that  ' '  helpless  compassion- 
ate pain  "  that  is  the  hardest  of  all  to  bear.  But  it  has 
brought  you  other  things  of  which,  perhaps,  you  know 
less:  the  spiritual  strength  which  has  grown  thro'  trial, 
and  that  heroic,  cheerful  heart  which  is  a  help  to  us  all. 

You  have  borne  your  troubles  as  none  of  us  could 
have  borne  them,  —  meeting  fretting  anxieties  with  a 
smiling  face,  —  and  we  look  on  and  admire  that  modest 
courage  and  gay  unselfishness. 

You  must  have  felt  your  Uncle  Phillips's  spirit  with 
you  thro'  many  a  dark  and  lonely  hour  —  dark  and 
lonely  but  for  him  —  and  Christ,  whom  he  brought  in  to 

all  our  lives  so  closely. 

Your  most  affectionate 

ALICE. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

48  MOUNT  VERNON  ST., 

March  29. 
[Dictated.] 
Dearest  Ethel, 

"And  beat  him  when  he  sneezes."  An  excellent 
remedy,  but  rather  heroic  if  it  is  his  last  call.  Do  you 
remember  my  saying  that  I  spoke  my  mind  once  on 
some  occasion,  to  which  Paulina  rejoined,  "  Hercula- 
neum  and  Pompeii  tell  the  story."  The  awful  part  is 


458  1906 

we  can't  say  we  miss  you,  or  need  you,  or  can't  live 
without  you  for  a  whole  week.  Only  you  are  a  perfect 
darling,  and  do  care  for  your  precious  self.  Have  you 
come  in  Chesterton's  Browning  to  the  passage,  ' '  When 
a  man  begins  to  think  that  the  grass  will  not  grow 
at  night  unless  he  lies  awake  to  watch  it  he  generally 
ends  either  in  an  asylum  or  the  throne  of  an  emperor  "? 
Which  things  are  an  allegory.  Just  you  lie  still  and  let 
the  human  greenery  take  care  of  itself. 

And  now  for  our  news. 

Keeping  an  annex  to  the  Diocesan  House  "works  sad 
havoc  with  the  features."  Six  clergymen  in  one  week 
is  all  very  well,  but  when  they  are  like  the  fox  and  the 

goose  and  the  bag  of  corn!  Mr. must  not  meet 

Mr. .  Mr. accuses  Mr. of  wanting  to  get 

rid  of  him,  and  Mr. can  meet  none  of  them.  We 

think  of  having  a  block  system  to  prevent  collisions, 
only  our  aim  is  to  keep  things  off  the  track. 

I  meant  to  write  this  myself  yesterday,  but  my  heart 
took  to  skirt  dancing  with  the  daffodils  and  rather  for- 
got how  old  it  was. 

My  love  to  my  little  brothers,  the  Chickadees,  and 
more  to  my  sister,  the  Skylark. 

ALICE  WESTON  SMITH, 

Per  P.  C.  S. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

Palm  Sunday. 
Darling  Ethel, 

You  were  born  of  a  Palm  Sunday,  weren't  you?  so 
that  today  is  symbolically  your  birthday,  and  the 


Aet.  37  459 

weather  acts  according,  and  is  as  sweet  and  bright  and 
sunshiny  as  it  ought  to  be. 

I  wonder  if  people  scolded  St.  Paul  for  saying  he 
would  "gladly  spend  and  be  spent  for  them"?  Very 
likely. 

Ah!  well,  my  dearest,  after  all  our  proud  boasts  we 
miss  you  and  need  you  every  hour  of  every  day.  And 
are  so  sorry  that  our  little  torch-bearer  has  been  called 
on  to  endure  weakness  and  weariness. 

Your  loving  old  sister 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

Dearest  Ethel, 

Here's  a  little  poem  I  came  across  in  the  "Oxford 
Book  of  Verse."  It  seemed  to  me  very  dear,  as  if 
Blake  might  have  written  it.  I  send  it  to  you  this 
Holy  Week  with  a  whole  year  more  of  love  and  devo- 
tion. 

Your  devoted 

ALICE. 

Thursday. 

All  in  the  April  morning 
April  airs  were  abroad  ; 
The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Pass'd  me  by  on  the  road. 

The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Pass'd  me  by  on  the  road. 
All  in  an  April  evening 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God. 


460  1906 

> 

The  lambs  were  weary  and  crying, 
With  a  weak,  human  cry ; 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God 
Going  meekly  to  die. 

Up  in  the  blue,  blue  mountains 
Dewy  pastures  are  sweet ; 
Rest  for  the  little  bodies, 
Rest  for  the  little  feet. 

Rest  for  the  Lamb  of  God 
Up  on  the  hilltop  green ; 
Only  a  cross  of  shame 
Two  stark  crosses  between. 

All  in  the  April  evening 

April  airs  were  abroad  ; 

I  saw  the  sheep  with  their  lambs, 

And  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God. 


Aet.  37  461 

BIRD  TABLE-TALK. 
May  15. 

Waked  by  chirping  and  the  squawk  of  a  Pheasant. 
At  5  A.M.  see  a  pair  of  Chickadees  eating  on  my  bird- 
table  and  the  suet,  and  courting  on  my  oak.  Also  see 
before  breakfast  one  Barn  Swallow,  Robins  on  the  path, 
Black-throated  Green  in  my  oak,  Chestnut-sided  War- 
bler on  Paulina's  oak  and  in  the  scrub,  Black-and-white 
Warblers,  and  hear  Vireos,  Towhee,  Catbird,  perhaps, 
and  Oriole  or  Grosbeak.  Get  out  at  breakfast  time; 
cool  and  lovely.  See  Black-throated  Blue  Warbler  flit- 
ting all  about.  On  the  mound  he  is  joined  by  Canadian 
Warbler,  in  a  necklace,  and  then  the  darling  Chicka- 
dees fly  to  the  dish  in  my  hand,  and  Smutty  gives  his 
little  wife  a  meal  worm  on  the  fence  rail,  and  then  in 
my  tree,  and  talks  again  and  again  of  taking  the  "gut- 
ter bird-house." 

Bright  afternoon,  with  a  very  high  wind.  At  last,  at 
supper  time,  through  the  woods  towards  the  sunset, 
hear  the  first  Thrush  song.  Paulina  says  a  Hermit 
Thrush,  whom  I  never  heard  before!! 

Come  down,  come  down,  my  bonnie  birds, 
Come  sit  upon  my  hand. 

May  16. 

Exquisite  and  much  warmer.  Out  eight  and  a  half 
hours.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chickadee,  tamer  than  ever,  sit- 
ting on  me  and  my  watch-stand,  and  when  I  am  indoors 
begging  from  my  pillow  in  love-sick  whimpers. 

See  my  first  Tree  Swallows,  Barn  Swallows,  Black- 
throated  Greens  (many  males  and  one  little  lady), 
Oven-bird  mincing  among  the  dry  leaves,  Chestnut- 
sides  everywhere  and  Black-and-white  in  my  tree; 


4:62  1906 

Parula  singing  his  little  head  off  in  my  tree.  Mamma, 
on  the  way  to  Manchester,  sees  an  Oriole.  We  hear  him 
whistling  about  all  day  and  Purple  Finches  far  and  near. 
.  .  .  Clouded  sunset,  but  a  chorus  of  Wood  Thrushes 
from  the  hillside  towards  the  brook —  bless  their  spotty 
hearts! 

May  28. 

Pouring  rain,  after  a  night  of  pouring  rain,  and  only 
forty-six  degrees  at  7  A.M.  A  few  Warblers  try  to  start 
little  songs,  but  give  it  up.  The  wind  does  the  whistling 
and  the  trees  are  the  wood  instruments.  Half  a  dozen 
times  during  the  day  the  Chickadees  call  us  to  the  door, 
fly  in  under  the  dripping  awning  and  eat  their  fill  of 
meal  worms,  Phoebe  taking  five  to  Smutty's  one,  on  an 
average.  The  night  settles  down,  more  and  more  of 
a  howling  storm  than  ever,  and  icy  cold.  Alas,  my 
Dickories! 

June  3.     Whitsunday. 

Through  crofts  and  pastures  wet  with  dew, 

A  living  flash  of  light  he  flew. 

TENNYSON. 

Most  exquisite  of  shining  days  (sixty  degrees  at  7 
A.M.).  A  very  full  bird  chorus.  Thrush,  Warblers,  Rob- 
ins, Orioles,  Purple  Finches,  Vireos  and  the  Towhee 
again.  (Let  dear  Virginia  out  into  Hampton  Court, 
where  she  flies  to  the  familiar  perch  alone.)  A  pair  of 
Humming-birds  make  love  in  my  oak  with  squeaks 
and  buzzings  like  infuriated  bees.  In  the  middle  of 
the  morning  hear  sharp  chirps  and  Bluety,  after  a  silence 
of  weeks,  bursts  into  song.  He  must  have  seen  his 
friends,  invisible  to  me. 


Aet.  37  463 

I  see  Purple  Finches  flying  past  and  Cedar  Waxwings 
and  Swifts,  Eobin,  Wood  Pewee,  Black-throated  Green 
and  Chestnut-sided,  Chickadee  and  Chippies,  and  what 
is,  I  think,  the  Blue-headed  Vireo  flying. 

Hear  the  call  of  Bluebirds,  the  first  I've  heard. 

In  at  tea  time  for  callers  and  out  again  for  an  hour  to 
moon  and  afterglow  —  the  music  of  evening  birds  and 
church  bells. 

June  8. 

Clouds  and  rains  at  breakfast  time  after  a  moonlight 
night  and  bright  dawn.  Get  out  at  ten  into  the  sun 
and  the  wind.  Dear  little  Mrs.  Chickadee  sits  on  the 
rail  waiting  for  me;  Mr.  Chestnut-sides  sings  in  my 
tree.  Chippy  on  the  path.  Swifts  overhead  and  an 
Oven-bird  in  a  flight-song.  Phoebe  makes  four  visits 
before  Smutty  appears  at  11  A.M.  At  11.30  they  come 
together.  (He  takes  one  meal  worm  at  a  time,  but  by 
noon  she  had  had  twenty- three  meal  worms,  besides  nuts, 
and  three  times  has  flown  off  with  three  in  her  beak  to 
a  distance.  Has  she  babies?)  The  Euby- throated  Hum- 
ming-bird flashes  along  just  outside  the  piazza  rail,  in- 
specting his  nasturtiums  like  a  red  signal  light. 

June  10. 

The  birds  awake  which  slumbered  all  night  long, 

And  with  a  gush  of  song, 

First  doubting  of  their  strain,  then  full  and  wide, 

Raise  their  fresh  hymns  through  all  the  country  side. 

Already  above  the  dewy  clover 

The  soaring  Lark  begins  to  hover 

Over  his  mate's  low  nest. 

L.  MORRIS. 


464:  1906 

June  10.     Trinity  Sunday. 

An  exquisite  hot  day  (sixty -eight  at  7  A.M.)  all  shining 
after  the  rain,  with  the  Thrush  singing  matins  behind 
a  choir  screen  of  budding  hemlocks.  Moved  in  for  the 
Holy  Communion  Service.  Out  again  at  eleven  o'clock. 
It  is  eighty  degrees  at  noon,  but  with  a  fresh  wind 
blowing  from  the  sea,  a  perfect  day  till  after  five,  when 
we  are  driven  in  again  by  black  clouds  followed  by  a 
mild  thunder  storm.  Saw  fewer  birds  than  ever  today. 
Knowing  I  was  out  of  meal  worms  yesterday,  Phoebe 
Chickadee  came  over  once  for  walnuts  in  the  morning 
and  not  again  till  just  before  the  storm,  when  Smutty 
escorts  her  as  far  as  the  piazza  rail  and  she  hastily 
snatches  two  meal  worms  and  they  are  blown  away 
like  Francesca  and  Paolo. 

At  dinner  time,  while  it  is  still  raining,  the  whole 
west,  to  the  highest  pine  tops,  grows  deep-rose  pink 
and  fades  as  suddenly  as  it  came. 

June  11. 

Indigo-bird  flies  into  the  crooked  pine  and  after  he 
has  gone  hear  him  singing  near  and  far,  hidden  in  green 
leaves.  A  blue-letter  day ! ! ! 

Before  in  the  crooked  pine,  all  about,  singing  his  little 
head  off,  a  brilliant  male  Parula  Warbler,  with  a  bronze 
necktie  on  a  gold  throat  —  unheraldic! 

June  12. 

Only  fifty  degrees  at  7  A.M.,  but  still  and  bright  and 
blue.  The  first  bird's  song  I  hear  when  I  come  out  to 
breakfast  is  Indigo-bird,  and  we  see  him  fljrfhg  from  a 
pine  to  an  oak;  then  more  song.  Then  I  hear  a  Wood- 


Aet.  37  465 

pecker  squawk,  not  heard  for  days  (was  it  Downy  or 
Flicker?)  —  and,  behind  all  and  before  all,  the  beautiful 
Wood  Thrush  down  the  hillside.  The  Pine  Warbler 
sits  in  the  crooked  pine  and  my  tree  and  trills  sweetly  all 
about.  See,  of  course,  the  Chickadee  pair;  Phoebe  toys 
languidly  with  the  meal  worms  and  Smutty  talks  again 
of  taking  the  little  bird-house  and  then  takes  to  whis- 
tling his  love  song  at  length  on  the  mound.  What  has 
happened,  that  time  seems  to  hang  so  heavy  on  their 
claws?  A  high  wind  springs  up  at  eleven,  which  blows 
me  in  directly  after  lunch.  Later  see  an  Oven-bird  in 
a  flight-song  and  Barn  Swallows  against  the  afterglow. 
The  Thrush  sings  vespers  behind  the  hemlock  hedge. 

June  20. 

If  all  the  world  were  June, 

With  tangled  roses  and  the  bumble  bee 
In  honeysuckle  murmuring  happily, 
In  lilies  deep  asleep  at  noon, 
While  sweet  birds  fill  the  sky, 
How  could  I  die  ? 

June  25. 

In  the  early  chorus  hear  the  whistling  of  my  lost 
Chickadees,  as  well  as  the  near-by  singing  of  Intfigo  and 
Song-sparrow.  Before  and  above  everything  the  chant- 
ing of  the  Wood  Thrush.  (Fifty-eight  degrees  at  seven, 
with  the  gray  morning  clearing  to  tender  blue  with  soft 
clouds,  an  English  sky.)  When  I  come  out  to  break- 
fast a  family  of  Baby  Crows  are  being  fed  on  the  lower 
oaks  —  whimpering  for  more. 

The  male  Scarlet  Tanager  sits  in  Paulina's  oak  and 
then  flames  by.  See  Robins  and  Cedar  Waxwings  fly- 
ing. Blue-headed  Vireo  singing  his  head  off,  and  the 


466  1906 

little  Chestnut-sides  singing  off  his  in  a  lower  sphere. 
See  the  Oven-bird  in  a  flight-song  at  high  noon,  and  lots 
of  Swifts  and  a  Gull  or  so. 

Hear  the  drumming  of  Downy  at  last!  the  squawk  of 
the  Flicker,  choke  of  Pheasant,  complaining  of  Pewee, 
whistle  of  Oriole,  warble  of  Purple  Finch,  and  songs  (?) 
of  Black-and-white  Warbler  and  Red-eyed  Vireo.  See 
ten  kinds  of  birds  today  and  hear  twelve  other  kinds  — 
not  counting  the  Crow  family,  who  are  almost  as  omni- 
present as  the  baby  Red  Squirrels  (one  feeds  from  a  dish 
in  my  hand  on  a  table  close  to  my  sofa),  and  the  pair 
of  grays,  who  are  better  tempered  and  always  together, 
poor  worn  old  dears. 

June  27. 

Waked  at  5.30  by  a  loud  Chickadee  call,  and  at  six, 
after  much  shilly-shallying,  distant  whistling  and  talk, 
Smutty  flies  to  my  hand  and  takes  off  thirty-three  meal 
worms  to  the  Chickadee  babies  in  the  first  hour.  They 
are  in  the  oak  scrub,  the  crooked  pine,  hemlock  hedge, 
and,  finally,  my  tree  (such  pretty,  white  little  fellows, 
but  with  long  tails).  But  where  is  Phoebe?  Resting 
from  her  labors? 

The  Wood  Thrush  sings  through  sunset,  but  it  is 
Robins  who  sing  to  the  crescent  moon. 

June  28. 

Exquisite  summer  morning,  with  all  the  birds  singing 
from  dawn  on  (like  light-hearted  lovers  rather  than  set. 
tied  family  men).  Among  them,  very  neax$the  house,  I 
hear  the  Scarlet  Tanager  and  Baltimore  Oriole.  Sixty- 
eight  degrees  at  7  A.M.,  and  when  I  come  out  to  break- 


Aet.  37  ±67 

fast  in  the  hot  stillness  a  silence  has  fallen  on  all  the 
singers.  Then  into  the  topmost  spray  of  the  gate-post- 
pine  fly  two  gorgeous  Baltimore  Orioles  and  flame  there 
against  the  sky  while  we  gather  to  watch  them.  (What 
are  two  males  doing  together  so  peaceably?) 

July  4. 

Sudden  burst  of  wind  and  rain  like  a  Sou'-Wester  after 
a  wet  night.  Sixty-nine  degrees  at  7  A.M.  Chippies 
chittering  like  tree  toads  over  their  wet  breakfasts  on 
the  path,  and  the  Chickadees  rushing  after  their  over- 
worked parent  among  the  wet  leaves  and  piazza  rail. 
Above  stairs  Virginia  singing  about  George  Washington 
and  Oven-birds  patriotically  making  themselves  into 
rockets  from  before  breakfast  till  after  sunset  —  exqui- 
site! A  clouded,  muggy  day  with  a  high,  hot  wind  and 
constant  little  showers.  Clears  off  beautifully  at  five, 
when  I  get  out  to  Thrush  music  and  stay  till  moonlight, 
starlight  and  fireworks. 

Birds  which  be  Angels  of  God. 

SIR  JOHN  MANDEVILLE. 

St.  Francis's  love  for  the  little  larks  whose  brown 
habits  and  heavenward  disposition  reminded  him  of  the 
earth-colored  gowns  and  heavenly  dispositions  of  his 
own  brothers. 

July  12. 

At  supper  time  I  see  my  first  well-seen  Wood  Thrush 
sitting  for  a  long  while  on  a  bare  branch  of  the  dead 
baby  pine,  singing  with  a  rival  on  the  hillside  below. 
We  could  see  his  mouth  opening,  and  his  beautiful  au- 


468  1906 

burn  head  and  spotted  waistcoat  over  his  round  breast. 
His  singing  is  still  at  the  height  of  its  solemn  splendor. 

And  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush 
He  gart  the  valleys  ring. 

SCOTCH  BALLAD. 

July  18. 

A  pink  sunrise  in  the  wet,  gray  sky,  and  the  Thrush 
singing  matins  in  his  favorite  ' '  bare  ruined  choir  "  (the 
baby  pine),  where  I  watch  him  long.  See  Mr.  Black- 
throated  Green  singing  and  his  little  wife  silently  at 
work.  Goldfinches  flying  by  (and  one  who  lands  in  my 
tree  with  a  shrill  "  Sweety- wee  "),  Chickadees  (Smutty 
wet  from  a  bath),  Chippies,  Blue  Jay  and  Swifts.  Last 
of  all  I  see  an  Owlet,  who  flies  with  another  quarrelling 
into  my  tree  and  then  sits  near  the  trunk  glaring  over 
his  shoulder  at  me  with  green  glass  eyes.  Big,  with- 
out ear- tufts.  (Barred  Owl.)  For  the  first  time  no  flight- 
song  today,  but  three  Thrushes  sing  together  in  the 
afterglow. 

Aug.  14. 

Bright  and  cool.  Step  out  for  a  few  minutes  at  seven 
o'clock  and  see  first  the  Scarlet  Tanager  blazing  by  me, 
then  Chippies  and  Chickadees,  Mrs.  Redstart,  and  Black- 
and-white  Warblers,  Goldfinch  flying  over,  and  Cedar 
"Wax wings  flying  and  sitting  on  trees  very  "crestfallen" 
(were  they  babies?)  and  Mrs.  Humming-bird.  A  lovely 
afternoon  and  sunset.  Hear  a  "Qua,  qua,"  and  see 
about  the  distant  pines  the  first  young  Red-breasted 
Nuthatch.  Then  he  flies  into  the  crooked  pine  and 
sticks  his  long  nose  into  everything,  a  perfect  little 


Aet.  37  469 

beauty  in  his  postman's  blue  coat,  beaver  hat,  and 
melon-pink  waistcoat.  Later  the  crooked  pine  is  a 
flurry  of  little  wings.  All  the  Chickadees  again,  and 
numbers  of  Black-and-white  Warblers  again,  and  with 
them  Red-eyed  Vireos  and  young  Black-throated  Greens. 

Aug.  29. 

Glorious  sunrise  and  shining  blue  day.  Get  out  on 
my  sofa  from  5.30  to  7  A.M.  Two  Red-breasted  Nut- 
hatches fly  up  into  the  gilded  top  of  the  crooked  pine 
and  talk  over  their  work.  A  big  Robin  sits  in  the 
crooked  pine,  wearing  a  spotted  bib  instead  of  the  toga 
virilis.  A  Goldfinch  flies  into  the  crooked  pine,  and 
the  Pewee,  and  we  hear  the  cry  of  "  Wee-pees  "  and  what 
is,  I  think,  the  Baby  Thrush's  call,  and  Pheasant,  Blue 
Jays,  Flicker  and  Screech  Owl  —  sixteen  kinds  of  seen 
and  five  other  kinds  heard.  A  deep  primrose  sunset 
and  a  moonlight  night. 

Aug.  30. 

By  noon  the  fog  has  blown  back  to  sea  and  the  west 
is  deep  blue.  Stay  out  till  after  supper.  At  one  o'clock 
a  Baby  Tanager  comes  into  my  tree  and  hops  up  the 
tuft,  where  she  sits  staring  at  us  with  innocent  eyes  in 
her  big,  woolly  head,  which  is  almost  as  yellow  as  a 
chicken's.  Then  a  second  Tanager  joins  her,  who,  we 
think  from  her  shapeliness,  is  the  mother,  and  they  hop 
about  my  tree  together.  See  Tree  Swallows,  Swifts, 
and  a  Night-hawk,  and  hear,  besides,  Blue  Jays,  Gold- 
finches, Downy,  the  pseudo  ''gathering  call  of  the 
Thrush  clan,"  and  at  sunset  time  one  long,  faint  Oven- 
bird's  flight-song. 


470  1906 

Sept.  10. 

One  of  the  birds  fled  from  the  tree  to  St.  Brendan 
and  with  flickering  of  her  wings  made  a  full,  merry 
noise  like  a  fiddle. 

Sept.  15. 

The  Spirit  of  delight  comes  often  on  small  wings. 

STEVENSON. 

Oct.  5. 

Fifty-one  degrees  at  7  A.M.  and  a  dripping  fog.  Get 
out  to  breakfast  to  the  tolling  of  the  harbor  bells, 
scream  of  Jay,  and  the  faint  song  of  a  Song-sparrow. 
See  Chickadees  and  Red-breasted  Nuthatches,  Robins 
(one  sang  his  spring  song),  lots  of  immature  Black- 
polls,  and  two  Black-throated  Greens  (one  dear  little 
fellow  with  very  fat  gold  cheeks,  "gilded  mumps," 
repeatedly  walks  along  the  piazza  rail  and  twice  lands 
on  the  table)  and  a  Kinglet  with  his  crown  in  my  tree. 

Oct.  30. 

Bright  sunrise,  then  clouds  over,  but  no  wind.  Move 
out  to  breakfast  into  a  gray  Novemberish  day.  Forty 
at  7  A.M.  My  last  day  among  my  Dickories.  Chicka- 
dees and  Nuthatches  and  "Policeman"  are  going  deep 
into  Hampton  Court,  and  again  today  a  Redbreast  (or 
is  it  many,  one  at  a  time?)  eats  constantly  from  the 
granary  doors  and  on  the  new  suet. 

Juncos  and  White-throats  are  rustlirf^  about  in  the 
leaves  below  —  on  the  path  —  and  in  the  bushes,  but  I 
never  see  more  than  three  or  four  of  each  at  a  time. 
Two  Juncos  hop  about  on  the  lower  piazza  floor.  The 


Aet.  37  471 

Chickadees  constantly  whistle  "Phoebe,"  to  keep  my 
spirits  up,  and  one  eats  from  the  nut  dish  beside  me  as 
an  attention.  A  flock  of  biggish  birds  fly  over.  Robins, 
perhaps. 

Hear  Goldfinches  and  Blue  Jays.  See  Golden-crowned 
Kinglets,  Brown  Creeper,  and  one  Myrtle  Warbler. 
Where  are  the  Thrushes  who  used  to  hop  about  the 
dry  leaves  on  the  avenue  last  year?  The  barberry 
tangle  is  still  green,  but  the  hillside  has  a  stripped  and 
desolate  look  under  the  leaden  sky. 

(Before  lunch  "  Fleda,"  in  her  black  fur  winter  coat, 
is  led  round  to  say  good-bye  and  have  her  last  sugar 
from  her  grandmother,  which  she  takes  with  her  front 
hoofs  on  the  porch.) 

The  evening  settles  in  early  and  dark,  with  a  sky  that 
looks  like  coming  snow. 


472  1906 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

Trinity  Sunday. 

We  have  just  had  the  Holy  Communion  Service  in 
my  room — set  in  this  exquisite  summer  day  and  with 
the  Wood  Thrush  joining  in  the  "Holy,  Holy,  Holy," 
from  behind  the  hemlocks. 

It  was  beautiful  to  have  Mr.  Nash,  and  I  only  wish 
you  could  have  been  here  too  —  our  other  human  Com- 
forter. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

(June. ) 
Wednesday,  10.15  A.M. 

Mrs.  Squirrel  has  just  quoted  Mr.  Micawber  and  told 
me  that  "in  fact,  they  are  weaned,"  but  one  of  the 
twins  didn't  agree  and  tried  to  relapse.  It  was  a  pretty 
scene.  She  refused  him  milk,  but  combed  his  hair  and 
kissed  him.  It  is  hard  to  cuddle  on  a  twig!!  but  they 
managed  somehow. 

If  I  tell  you  I  have  an  Indigo-bird  on  the  top  of  a 
little  cedar  and  that  Shamah  has  sung,  you  will  think 
there  is  a  depth  below  the  fish  story. 

When  you  and  Sherrard  got  to  Boston  did  you  mount 
the  subway  or  descend  to  the  elevated?  His  bump  of 
locality  must  suit  him  for  Topsy  Turveydom.  Dost 
love? 

Tell  Forrest  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  him.     * 

Your  female  relative, 

ALICE. 


Aet.  37  473 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

(Aug.  11.) 

MANCHESTER,  Saturday  Morn. 
Weather:  A  tapioca  pudding  just  off  the  stove. 
Well,  my  darlings, 

Try  to  imagine  the  loneliness  of  two  dusty  old  hens 
on  the  shore,  while  their  yellow  ducklings  paddle  off 
into  Dublin  Lake! 

Mamma  called  on  Mrs.  William  Brooks  at  tea  time 
and  found  her  prettily  dressed,  receiving  her  friends. 
She  forget  to  tell  her  that  I  had  a  new  black  hair-ribbon. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Peabody  called  on  me,  and  if  I  did 
keep  a  green-eyed  monster  among  my  pets  he  would 
have  grown  monstrous  green-eyed  as  she  talked  of  you, 
Miss  Linkstress. 

I  was  trying  to  think  this  morning  whether  it  was 
1 1  The  Return  of  the  Druses  "  Susie  read  when  Arthur 
was  defeated  as  mayor,  and  why  not  ' '  Two  Votes  in  the 

Campagna"? 

Your  same  old  fleering,  sneering 

NANNY. 

To  Miss  ETHEL  L.  PAINE. 

MANCHESTER,  August. 

"In  Cuba  most  of  our  Wood  Warblers  are  known 
simply  as  '  Mariposas '  —  butterflies ;  but  the  Redstart's 
bright  plumage  has  won  for  him  the  name  '  Cande- 
lita'  — the  little  torch." 

And  so,  my  dear  Candelita,  let  me  tell  you  how  lonely 
it  is  to  drink  my  chocolate  without  my  Linkstress  in 


474  1906 

her  blue  wrapper  just  inside  the  other  door  —  or,  at 
least,  the  knowledge  that  there  is  a  voice  on  the  bed  — 
perhaps  you  would  call  it  an  Ear,  you  pert  child. 
"  Squid jurns  "  is  here,  and  so  is  "  Cleopatra,"  but  in  the 
fur  and  not  in  the  flesh. 

And  how  are  you,  darling,  and  has  a  glorious  October 
just  reached  you?  If  Dublin  air  and  memories  are  do- 
ing you  good  I  hope  you  will  stay  on  and  let  the  Baby 
of  thirty-four  years  come  home  by  herself.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she  will  chew  off  her  tag. 

News?  There  is  none,  except  that  we  are  making  a 
clam-soup  for  Mrs.  Brooks,  and  this  pen  might  have 
been  in  it  for  salt  sea  damp. 

This  afternoon  I  see  Mrs.  Peabody  —  your  friend  — 
and  here's  a  quotation  from  "The  Cloister  and  the 
Hearth"  to  fit  the  occasion:  "  'Ah,  this  is  hair,'  said 
the  old  lady.  The  poor  girl  who  owned  it  was  not  quite 
out  of  the  reach  of  flattery;  owing,  doubtless,  to  not 
being  dead." 

I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and  that's  not  flattery, 
but  just  sober,  everyday,  working  truth. 

Your  adopted  sister, 

NANNY. 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August. 
Dearest  Teeny, 

It  is  another  bright  October  morning  and  a  world  of 
song.  I  am  trying  to  wield  two  pair  of  opera-glasses 
and  a  pen  at  once  —  to  say  nothing  of  meal  worms  and 


Aet.  37  475 

an  inkstand,  a  feat  worthy  of  you  and  what's-his-name 
—  Mr.  Allen's  rival  in  getting  out  of  things. 

If  I  should  tell  you  how  many  kinds  of  birds  were 
served  with  my  chocolate  you  would  allude  to  Ellen 
Emmons's  ten  strike.  So  I  will  only  say  that  a  young 
Ked-breasted  Nuthatch  appeared  this  morning  and  that 
Sunday  the  Scarlet  Tanager  —  knowing  it  was  a  red-let- 
ter day  for  this  household  —  appeared  in  full-dress  uni- 
form. 

Mrs.  Peabody  made  her  last  visit  yesterday  and  Mrs. 
Higginson  was  here  with  her,  and  later  —  to  show  you 
haven't  a  monopoly  in  paladins  —  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
Dickson,  Charley  and  Melville,  who  all  three  came  to 
supper. 

And  with  them  came  your  Saturday  letter.  What  a 
rich  field  Cleopatra  and  her  attendant  Charmian  have 
found.  Like  Mrs.  Bell,  I  didn't  know  there  were  so 
many  live  men. 

Cleopatra  was  a  wonderful  woman,  and  if  I  remem- 
ber rightly,  nothing  could  stale  her  infinite  variety,  but 
even  she  didn't  have  Bible  Classes  and  enjoy  a  clergy- 
man's reduction  at  theological  bookstores!! 

My  love  to  Joe  and  Corinna  and  Mrs.  Smith.  We 
shan't  write  again,  but  keep  our  strength  to  hug  you 

when  you  get  here. 

Your  devoted 

ALICE, 

To  HER  SISTER. 

MANCHESTER,  August  12th. 
Well,  little  Brown  Head, 

Thirty-four  years  ago  you  opened  your  big  eyes  on 
this  strange  world  to  gladden  your  folks  all  the  days  of 


476  1906 

their  life.  And  ever  since  you  have  been  climbing  on 
and  up,  no  matter  how  steep  and  rocky  the  path,  and 
when  the  Mount  of  Vision  was  hidden  by  the  mists  of 
mortal  anguish. 

Your  heart  has  often  fainted,  but  it  has  not  failed,  and 
to  those  who  have  been  true  in  the  darkness  what  will 
the  light  mean? 

God  grant  that  I  may  be  near  my  darling  there  as 
here  —  her  sister  always. 


Aet.  37  477 

FROM   HER  NOTE-BOOK. 

It  is  in  our  power,  if  not  to  annihilate  pain  at  least 
to  lessen  it  by  patience,  and,  even  though  the  body 
should  be  perturbed  by  it  to  maintain,  nevertheless, 
the  soul  and  the  reason  by  firmness.  —  MONTAIGNE. 

Circumstances  spur  us  as  much  as  they  hinder  us;  it 
is  in  the  struggle,  day  by  day,  with  them  that  we  gain 
muscle  for  the  real  life  fight.  One  must  look  greatly 
forward  to  the  great.  In  the  light  of  it  one  sees  how 
the  very  patience  of  a  thwarted  day  may  be  one's  work 
to  the  end.  —  JOHN  H.  GREEN. 

Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  their  souls  shall  be 
Queens  of  Consolation.  —  DANTE. 

But  the  human  heart,  yearning  for  sympathy  in  its 
weakness,  and  stricken  with  terror  in  its  defilement, 
cries  out  passionately  for  an  incarnate  God. 

HITCHCOCK. 

She  has  taught  the  beautiful  science  of  bearing  in- 
firmity without  losing  dignity. 

Keep  your  eyes  open  for  your  mercies;  that  part  of 
piety  is  eternal,  and  the  man  who  forgets  to  be  thankful 
has  fallen  asleep  in  life.  —  STEVENSON. 

I  prayed  to  God  that  He  would  baptize  my  heart  into 
a  sense  of  the  needs  and  conditions  of  all  men. 

GEORGE  Fox. 

These  things  saith  he  that  holdeth  the  seven  stars  in 
his  right  hand,  who  walketh  in  the  midst  of  the  seven 


478  1906 

golden  candlesticks:  I  know  thy  works  and  thy  labour 
and  thy  patience. 

October  21st. 

Comfort  ye,  comfort  ye,  my  people,  saith  your  God; 
speak  ye  comfortably  to  Jerusalem,  and  cry  unto  her 
that  her  warfare  is  accomplished. 

The  last  words,  written  so  short  a  time  before  she 
passed  into  the  shadow,  were  from  a  passage  on  Isaiah 
vi,  by  Professor  Nash: 

"Thus  faith  creates  Israel,  who  fears  no  odds  and 
never  dreams  of  turning  to  the  left  to  build  a  palace  of 
Art  or  a  Monastery,  but  goes  straight  forward  and  takes 
his  wounds  in  his  breast." 


Aet.  37.  479 

PRAYERS. 

From  impure  thoughts,  hasty  words  and  harsh  judg- 
ments, Good  Lord,  deliver  us. 

O  thou  great  Physician,  heal  me;  help  me  to  bring  to 
Thee  not  only  this  feeble  body,  but  this  perverted  mind; 
this  imagination  full  of  impurity  and  disease.  Lay 
Thine  hand  upon  me  and  I  shall  be  whole.  So  fill  my 
heart  with  love  toward  Thee  that  I  shall  give  out  light 
and  not  darkness. 

Thou  knowest  how  weak  and  sinful  I  am  —  how  I 
take  Thy  name  upon  my  lips  and  deny  it  in  my  life,  and 
have  put  a  barrier  of  falsehood  and  self-indulgence  and 
passion  between  my  life  and  Thee.  I  am  a  sheep  that  is 
gone  astray  —  I  sink  in  the  mire  where  no  ground  is. 
0  Lord,  let  my  crying  come  unto  Thee.  Teach  me  to 
bring  my  life  to  Thee  that  in  Thy  Strength  I  may  live 
it  as  Thy  faithful  servant  and  soldier;  teach  me  to  bring 
my  grief  to  Thee,  that  it  may  be  sanctified  of  all  that  is 
base  and  selfish,  and  turned  into  an  inspiration  and  help, 
and  that  by  the  discipline  of  all  the  years  I  may  be  made 
worthier  to  meet  him  in  Thy  presence  if  it  be  Thy  will. 

0  God,  through  whatever  pain  and  darkness  and  disap- 
pointment, draw  me  to  Thee,  that  I  may  lose  my  life  in 
love  to  Thee  and  service  for  Thy  children  for  His  sake 
who  came  to  seek  what  was  lost,  to  bind  up  the  broken- 
hearted and  to  say  to  the  weak  and  erring:  Thy  sins  be 
forgiven  thee  —  arise  and  walk. 

0  Almighty  God,  who  has  given  Thine  only  Son  to 
take  our  nature  upon  Him  and  to  suffer  death  upon  the 
Cross  that  He  might  call  not  the  righteous  but  sinners 
to  repentance,  have  mercy  upon  me  —  release  me  from 
my  sins  —  the  burden  of  them  is  intolerable*  A  broken 
and  a  contrite  heart,  0  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise.  I 


480  1906 

am  weak  —  fill  me  with  Thy  strength.  Uplift  me, 
strengthen  me,  sanctify  me;  give  me  grace  that  I  may 
be  so  brave  and  patient,  so  faithful  over  a  few  things, 
that  I  may  do  some  little  work  for  Thee  in  Thy  good 
time  thro'  Him  who  liveth  and  was  dead  and  is  alive 
for  evermore. 

0  God,  help  me  to  dedicate  my  spared  life  in  loving 
service  to  Thee. 

Make  me  so  pure  and  humble  that  I  may  speak  Thy 
words  of  comfort  to  those  who  are  in  sorrow. 

Teach  me  to  live  that  I  may  do  some  little  work  for 
Thee  elsewhere  or  here. 

O  God,  train  me  and  use  me  to  relieve  some  wrong  or 
misery  before  I  leave  the  world. 

O  God,  Thou  knowest  all  things,  purify  the  thoughts 
of  my  mind,  pour  into  my  cold  and  faithless  heart  such 
love  toward  Thee  that  all  life  shall  glow  with  new  pur- 
pose and  new  meaning. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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